Him Whom My Soul Loveth
by Sarah Montrose
Summary: "At last, I have found him. My king and master, him whom my soul loveth" 1641. It is uncommon for a young and married woman in her early twenties to disembark on the shores of the New World with no husband and an obscure story. *Prequel to the Scarlet Letter* Reviews, please !
1. Chapter 1 : The House of Jack Firestone

**THE HOUSE OF JACK FIRESTONE**

Hester could hardly refrain a feeling of marvel while Jack Firestone, her landlord, showed her around the house. The governor had recommended her to him when she was presented after her arrival to sign the chart of the colony, and made known her request to be shown around the vacant houses, among which she hoped to find the one her husband and herself would inhabit after his arrival; Jack Firestone was a good-looking man in his mid thirties. He had arrived on the shores of the New World in his twenties. Among the earliest pioneers, his skills as a carpenter's apprentice gradually led him to oversee the constructions of the main houses of the town –the governor's mansion, the church, along with several other buildings; the house Hester was considering inhabiting had been once his in the first years of his adulthood, and was the work of his hands; yet he had quickly preferred to settle in another mansion on the margins of the village, backing the woods like this one. His architectural skills had granted him a respectable amount of fortune.

"I have no objection to rent it to you after Mister Prynne' soon-to-come arrival, though I must confess I feel ashamed to leave it to you in such a state. A few renovation works will be needed to grant you a full comfort."

"This won't be a problem Sir" she answered, "We will handle most of it"

"Would you like my workmen to handle it for you instead?" he offered with a light laugh. "Surely this will require vigorous manly hands. I am grateful to have the opportunity to make something out of it – few people would be willing to dwell in a place that remote from the town square. I shall include it in the rental fees, it will cost you nothing."

"Much obliged, Sir. Thank you"

"If I may ask, what do you expect to do for living until Mister Prynne gets here?"

"Embroidery"

"Embroidery! How interesting" he replied with a sly glance that made her somehow uncomfortable. "I would not say no to a little touch of fancy. Some lack of imagination can produce tedious people. And people can be rather tedious here. I guess you must know the way to the attic"

He led her behind the chimney at the east end of the living room, ushering her into a narrow passage she would probably never have noticed on her own, and showed her a little door half-hidden beneath large beams. When he unlocked it and opened it, a faint musty breeze came up the old wooden stairs descending into the darkness.

"And here is the cellar" he said plainly. "It is the most secret place in Boston. The walls conceal any kind of sound, the darkness any imprudent vision. Whatever you will be doing downstairs, nobody shall ever know about it, Mistress Prynne, I promise you."

Hester looked up but only saw a mocking sneer upon her landlord's face. Obviously he had been taunting her.

"These are jokes of a most questionable taste, Mister Firestone", she declared.

"Ay, Miss. I just wanted to make you smile. Would you like me to drive you back to Mistress and Mister Highaway's pension?"

When she sat next to Firestone on the coach, Hester couldn't help smiling at the oddity; she had been told on the continent that settlers in the New World were of a peculiar kind and character, but she was every time more surprised about it – pleasantly surprised, for if their external appearances were still the same as could be found in England, they seemed to express themselves in uncommon ways and an amusing sharpness. At least, this could apply to the men she had chanced upon until now, even though she had had hints of a couple of women with strange sideward glances.

At this time of the day –almost 1 p.m –the pension of Mistress and Mister Highaway was empty and quiet. All the pensioners were outside, attending to their business, or shut into their room for a nap. Lost in her thoughts, Hester wandered about the silent living scattered with four seats and a small table, her petticoat brushing the carpet with a light whisper. She hadn't had much time until now to reflect on her arrival and its implications, however she had understood very quickly how much unity was the core principle of the colony, and the condition of its perpetuity. She would have to find her place in the community and join in as soon as possible.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. When Hester went to open, she found herself face to face with a young woman of about her age; Hester's artistic mind's first noticed was that she was not of a very refined complexion: her face was too large and her mouth wide, but her warm and lovely smile hindered this first judgement so quickly that Hester put it on her imagination. The visitor was holding a basket covered by a piece of cloth. She curtsied slightly.

"Good evening, are you Mistress Prynne?" And as Hester nodded, "I am Elizabeth Winship, your closest neighbour –you must have walked past my house on your way home. Welcome to Boston!"

She handed the basket over to Hester: it was full of freshly made marmalades. Hester, touched and anxious to make the best impression as possible, replied:

"Thank you very much, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…-Mistress? Winship"

"Actually I am still a "Miss" on the papers", she answered, laughing, "But soon will I marry -in two days!"

Hester felt an unpleasant pang in her heart at the news, but kept smiling perfectly.

"What a blessing. Congratulations…Please, come in! The living is entirely ours it seems: I was feeling quite lonely!"

" I thank you."

Elizabeth entered and sat in one of the four seats next to the chimney, while Hester sat in front of her.

"So what do you think of Boston, Mistress Prynne?" asked Elizabeth.

"It is very different I assume" Hester answered evasively. "I haven't fully realized yet that I am in America. It is unreal."

Her guest was watching her speaking with sweet little blue eyes –myositis- and a deep attention, which had nothing to do with the usual rules of courtesy.

"Ay, I know how it feels. I arrived in Boston with my father three years ago-he owned a tavern in London you know, and we had to flee when the king's spies found out he would welcome puritans protesters. I was raised in this faith from a very early age: I would pluck the chickens under the stairs and hear the customers' discussions. I learned a lot. Here, my father became a tanner."

"I see. My father was a peer of the House of Commons, but he died last year; my mother and I led a rather humble life during the following months."

 _And I was to get married as soon as possible_ , she remembered with a slight feeling of bitterness. _We needed money_.

"Have you met your husband in Boston?" Hester asked.

"Yes" Elizabeth answered with a loving blush. "James was a pioneer of the Virginia Company, who moved in Boston: he is involved in the fur trade as a hunter, and my father would buy him his material. This is how I knew him. I loved him straight away"

"I am very glad for you" Hester replied, but it was a lie, for she vividly envied her.

"Thank you. But would you like to tell me more about you? Why have you come to America?"

"My husband, who is still in Europe, wanted to study the plants here. He is a very learned man, whom I esteem a lot. He sent me ahead, for he had a few matters to settle before leaving; I have nothing left in Europe, so it was not much a dilemma for me. I am even quite pleased to be here, everything is so new."

"And when will your husband join you here?"

"He told me he would take the next ship, two months later, so I shall not have to wait long"

Elizabeth smiled her wide smile.

"James and I would be very glad to welcome you for dinner when your husband arrive" And in a very forward gesture, she reached for Hester's hand and delicately squeezed it. "Please, do come to my marriage on Sunday after the morning service".

Hester was so startled by such a display of affection and kindness it took her a few seconds to let out an answer.

"I will", she promised. Then, she asked to change the subject: "Would you like anything to drink? Today is a warm day, isn't it?"

Mrs Highaway had left a bottle on the sideboard, with no word written on it, and the black tainted glass did not give away any clue as to what kind of liquor was inside. Hester opened it and vainly tried to smell the substance. Behind her, Elizabeth burst into a ringing laughter.

"I am afraid your nose will not be of any help, my dear!" she pointed at the bottle "This is clear water, from Mr Firestone's spring."

"I did not know Jack Firestone owned a spring." Hester confessed.

"You know Mr Firestone, then!"

"I do. Actually, he showed me around the place, and I intend to rent one of his houses. The one backing the forest, next to Victor Dunnovan's farm."

Hester had brought the bottle with two glasses she filled to the brim. She could scarcely conceal her surprise when the water entered her mouth: it tasted deliciously pure, with strong notes of minerals, and its texture was instantly thirst quenching. Never had she had such a good time drinking water.

"Good, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked expectantly. "Mr Firestone found this clear underground spring while digging for the foundations of his present dwelling. That was certainly fortunate, since he can now sell it for a good price on the market place: everybody here is very fond of it!"

"I can understand why" Hester answered, before taking another sip.

"Mr Firestone also grows wonderful roses in his garden…"

At that moment, footsteps resounded above their heads, and shortly after they saw an elder woman walk down the stairs. Mrs Highaway's wrinkled face was kind and motherly to any young people she saw, unlike many old women bitter in their criticisms of "youthful extravagance".

"I did not expect to find you here so soon, child!" she exclaimed when she beheld Elizabeth.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Highaway" Elizabeth got up and kissed her on the cheek. "I came to welcome your new pensioner, and my new neighbour."

"You sweetheart! Is Mistress Prynne not lovely?"

"Well, you shall see be glad to see her at my wedding on Sunday" Elizabeth was beaming when she turned to Hester. "Shall her not, Mistress Prynne?"

Hester approved silently, with a thin smile.

"Would you like to come for dinner tonight?" Mistress Highaway suggested to Elizabeth. "I just bought fresh pheasants from the market to welcome our newcomer."

"It is very kind of you Mistress Highaway, but you know I have to look after my father."

"I know, dearest." The old lady sighed and patted delicately Elizabeth's cheek. "How is he doing?"

"Better, though still weak. I am so thankful for everybody's thoughtfulness. Reverend Dimmesdale even came this morning to check on him and talk for a while!" She smiled at the thought.

"We are all praying for him" Mistress Highaway reassured her. "Now, Mistress Hibbins and I had a talk with the Bellingham manor's cook about the wedding dinner on Sunday. You will not have to worry about anything dear–except being present with John after the ceremony, of course!"

"I am truly blessed" Elizabeth said simply, at loss for words. "I do not know what to say."

"I would love to help you with the wedding dinner if you don't mind, Mistress Highaway" Hester volunteered.

Mistress Highaway smiled at her tenderly.

"I appreciate deeply, Mistress Prynne, but I had rather you were amongst the guests and got to know our small community. Please, make yourself at home!"

* * *

That night, Hester was far too excited to fall straight asleep, and if the long journey on the sea and the amount of dazzling novelties were sufficient to exhaust her emotionally, the dangling projects and the prospect of her new life, kept her awake. Sometimes, she thought she could feel the rocking of the boat in her room. She was also listening to the faintest sounds of the world outside -from here, she could hear the buzzing forest – and inside –the faint snores of the neighbouring rooms. All of this she enjoyed utterly, and yet, when the overwhelming feelings of freedom took the best of her, the reality of her situation came back to her, to instantly extinguish the raising enthusiasm.

Ay, she thought, this was fake freedom indeed she was rejoicing in so naively. It was a beautiful illusion to believe she could be happy there and be on her own. She could not wait for her husband's arrival; they would move in the cottage of Jack Firestone, and there, they would have children. At last, she would have the true home she had been wanting for so long, and that she had been sure to acquire with her marriage. It felt strange to be there on her own, in an in-between situation; but he would be there in two months, and two months was not that much time, she thought. They would fly away quickly.

After all, Hester loved her husband, even if he was much older than her. He had married her when she was ruined and with no money. He had fed her, clothed her, loved her. Hester had made the best of her situation, or at least, of this she strived to convince herself.

Restless, after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, she determined to get up and write a letter to Mister Prynne to let him know about her arrival. She put on a dressing gown, braided her hair again in the mirror, took a candle and went down.

At first, Hester was surprised to see the light reflected on the wall of the stairs, and the flickering shadows of a candle coming from the living room. She watched discreetly from the corner of the stairs. There was someone sitting at the desk near the window. From what she could tell from the back, she guessed it was a young and slender man in shirtsleeves, still wearing his day clothes. She went down one step more, and the creaking of the wood under her foot made him shiver, jump from his seat and turn to her. In the semidarkness, backing the candlelight, Hester could only discern gracious features and wide blue eyes.

"I beg your pardon, good Sir" she quickly apologized. "I did not mean to interrupt you in your…" she glanced at the pile of books threatening to tip over the edge of the desk. "…in your studies."

The young man seemed unsettled, even disturbed. He probably did not expect to meet anybody at such a late hour. However, there seemed to be much more than that; something that, at least Hester hoped so, was not of her doing. His nervous hand was holding a slightly crumpled paper. He did not answer straight away, and apparently recovered from his freezing emotion only when he saw Hester reach the last step of the stairs.

"I am deeply sorry Miss" he replied with a trembling voice, which stroke the young woman with sympathy. He began to clear hastily the table and put the books on empty shelves under the window. "The place is yours…"

Poor Hester vainly tried to stop him –for she felt terribly uneasy to add another trouble to his concern, whatever it was.

"I don't need the study, Sir! I simply could not sleep…I am going back to my room."

The young man barely paid attention to her, lost in his thoughts. He gathered his papers under his arms and headed for the stairs.

"I bid you good night, Miss" Instead of brushing-past her, he paused for a second at the bottom of the stairs, and looked at her. "God bless you", he muttered, before vanishing upstairs.

Hester stood there alone a few moments, still taken aback, not knowing what to do. Well, at least she had the study now; the young man had even left his candle and plume, along with the inkwell. She sighted deeply and fumbled inside the drawers, where she found as many sheets of paper as she needed, then sat down. The plume was weary and the end crooked from the intensive use. _Poor young man_ , she could not help thinking. _I wonder what happened to him to throw him into such disarray so late. I wish I could help him._

This being said, she had come here to write a letter to her husband. However, the white page in front of her suddenly filled her with fear.

What would she write? What did she have to tell him, and what would he like to hear? Would he rejoice at the reading of her letter? Was he only interested in her whereabouts? She realized in astonishment that she had no answer to these questions.

Maybe the air of the New World was too wild for her to breathe and keep her sanity. She did not know whence all the doubt came, but it came, very strongly, hitting her like the fierce rush of the ocean.

What had she ever shared with her husband, save her body? Of course he seemed to care for her, but they had scarcely had any time of complicity or fellowship at all…Nay, she knew nothing of him –he had always been distant and dedicated to his books –and he knew nothing of her –never had she felt close enough to him to open her heart. She wanted to be the perfect wife, never complaining nor asking for more.

In truth, the young Hester considered her old husband as boring, even if she charitably –and with conviction –qualified him as "peaceful" and "composed". This had been a marriage without passion, love, or simply pleasure. A marriage she was not satisfied with. And it was in the living room of a sleeping pension on the other side of the ocean that she realised, facing this empty page, the fullness of her solitude and silent longing. Her breathing began to quicken.

 _Be strong, Hester, do not lose hope_. A soft voice enjoined her. _You shall settle this matter with Mister Prynne when he arrives. He is a gentle man, is he not? Everything shall look easier then. Be patient! You have only been married for two years, and it takes time to know someone_.

Hester eventually managed to calm herself. Indeed, Mister Prynne was not of a bad temper, and had always treated her well. She knew he would listen, and they would resolve everything, if things did not resolve by themselves. With a renewed hope and a more peaceful mind, she started to write:

 _To Mr Prynne, from his loving wife…_

The rest followed naturally.


	2. Chapter 2 : The Angels and the Reverend

**Chapter Two**

 **The Angels and the Reverend**

The celebrations of the wedding at the Governor's house, as Mistress Highaway had seemed to hint at it, allowed the gathering of a little circle of personalities of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Governor Bellingham and his sister, Mistress Ann Hibbins, a widow whose nasty face encouraged not Hester's aesthetical mind to approach her, supported financially and materially the festivities, and their many servants would attend the guests in the reception hall with impeccable zeal before the dinner, holding refreshments on silver plates. Of course John Warburton, a solidly built man with a tanned skin, and his cheerful bride Elizabeth were present, radiant with the joy of a young marriage. Elizabeth also introduced Hester to old Reverend Wilson, which composed with his wife a stern-looking portrait, but of a prominent social influence in the colony. He frowned when he learned Hester was there by herself, even for a short time. The young woman hurried away from him as soon as she could, and, thanks to her new friend's goodwill, chanced upon Judge Edward Right, also with his wife and demonstrating signs of good comradeship with Wilson and Bellingham, as a probable result of a long collaboration in the administration of the settlement.

Jack Firestone was present too, with his bright blue-green eyes, his elegant complexion and charmingly self-confident smile. He was in conversation with Mistress Hibbins. When he felt Hester's eyes on him, and beheld her in her golden dress and beautiful collaret, some black curls escaping the confinement of her hat, he discreetly waved at her.

Hester waved and smiled back. She genuinely wondered how a rich and handsome man like Firestone could possibly be still single in his thirties. Was he a widower?

"Mister Firestone never married, as far as I know." Elizabeth answered in a low voice, with teasing eyes. "He must be one of the most charming men in the area –do not ever tell John what I told you, dear –yet never has he been found reprehensible for any dishonest behaviour. People talk, of course. But one may wonder whether being an unmarried man really should be so suspicious. Reverend Dimmesdale is still a bachelor himself"

Ay, Reverend Dimmesdale. Hester glanced at the young man now involved in a solemn discussion with old Reverend Wilson, Judge Right and Governor Bellingham, amongst other powerful men. Hester had seen him in the morning at the end of the service, similarly surrounded by so many people, and mainly young ladies, eager to approach him or earn a word of attention from his lips, that she had hardly found any opportunity to exchange a word with her new pastor.

If Arthur Dimmesdale was still a bachelor, it surely was not to blame on an unattractive face or a presumed lack of women; his complexion was fair, his eyes velvet blue and his brow high. He was endowed with a natural elegance in his gestures and walk, glowing through his humility, and granting him a sensitive presence wherever he stood, even if he remained silent.

Hester had had the chance to understand further the power of attraction that was his, as soon as he had started to preach. It had occurred to her that he could speak the tongue of angels: words had poured out from his lips as from heaven, and the young woman had not been able to take her eyes off him for all the forty-five minutes sermon, and only when he had stopped speaking had she been conscious again of where she was, when, and with whom. She had exchanged amazed looks with the surrounding attendants and understood that almost anybody had been living the same enchantment.

How could a young theologian, freshly out from college, speak with so much authority and power, enough to make all her anxiety and doubt vanish and excite in her a new zeal to serve God in truth and spirit, that, she struggled to understand, and it was likely that an eloquence such as Arthur Dimmesdale's was more a matter of the heart than of the mind. The reverend could touch the chords of Hester's soul as easily and skilfully as a master harpist would the chords of his instrument, and play on them to create the most blissful melody, tuning it to the choirs of Heaven.

Alas, the danger that all the women falling under the spell of this otherworldly power, and Hester Prynne amongst them, were too blinded to take heed of and dread, was to mistake the man for the word, and take for love what was of awe, and for flesh what was of the spirit.

In the daylight, from the pulpit, the reverend had met Hester's eyes, and she had known that the young man of that night had recognised the young woman, even if his voice had not flinched, neither his face twitched. His piercing look had drilled her as many golden arrows. She could not define what had occurred between the two of them; but whatever it was, it had been striking, and physical. She wondered if he had felt the same, and right then, in the hall next to Elizabeth, she found herself searching for his slender figure as soon as she lowered her guard.

Hester started to believe he had not even taken notice of her, when he suddenly broke away from his circle. It was in total disbelief that she watched him coming their way.

"At last you could escape, Good Master Dimmesdale!" Elizabeth merrily welcomed him. "I was about to wonder whether you would ever be free to have a word with me!"

"I am always free to have a word with you, Mistress Warburton" he courtly replied.

The young bride heard her new name with great pleasure.

"Master Dimmesdale, have you met Mistress Hester Prynne? She arrived only two days ago, and she happens to live in Mrs and Mr Highaway's pension as well!"

The reverend's eyes rested upon Hester, charged with a wholehearted attention, though his thoughts remained impenetrable.

"We have met indeed." He admitted softly. "How do you do, Mistress Prynne?"

"Fairly well, good sir. Do you feel better yourself?"

A quick shadow crossed the young man's face, and his mouth compressed for a fleeting moment. Out of anger, or pain, Hester could not fathom, neither whether he was more embarrassed by the question than by the fact Elizabeth could not understand what Hester was hinting at.

"Hm. Better, with the help of God. I am so sorry I have not been much present at the common meals of Mrs Highaway the last two days. However, it is my wish to come to know more about you, Mistress Prynne."

Dimmesdale spoke the words with simplicity and innocence; yet, to win such a disputed attention as that of the reverend was enough to flatter Hester's vanity.

"Reverend Dimmesdale makes it a point of honour to know personally every single one of the sheep the Lord gave him." Elizabeth explained. "I leave you into good hands, Mistress Prynne!"

The bride left them for John, who was now in a fiery debate with Judge Right over the recent unprecedented audacity of the Parliament of England, which had declared the King's Ship Money decree to be illegal.

At once, Hester felt shame and suppressed prideful resentment burning her cheeks. What had she been imagining? She barely dared to look directly into Arthur Dimmesdale's eyes.

"Shall we sit down?" he suggested.

They sat nearby the chimney, and Hester told him her story in truth: her childhood in the neighbourhood of London, raised by an Anglican mother and Puritan father of old gentry –a parliamentarian very politically in sight in the House of Common. He had been at the head of the most diehard party against the outlaw of the ship money, a very burning subject at the moment. The year before, he had been arrested by the soldiers of the King and imprisoned and his goods taken away. She and her mother had moved in with her aunt, whose husband knew a certain Mr Prynne. Hester's uncle had gathered for her a modest dowry, out of Christian charity, and Mr Prynne had married her in spite of the disgrace of her father. Three months later, she had arrived in America, sent ahead by her husband.

Hester nonetheless chose to conceal the unpleasant details of the deformity and advanced age of her husband, not so much because she was ashamed of it as because she strove to hide them from her own eyes. The thought was unpleasant indeed, and it was furthermore her wish to be a better wife and foster a feeling of affection for the man she was bonded to, yet could not honestly pretend to love.

Dimmesdale listened to her patiently and without intervening, his penetrant stare not leaving her a single moment. He displayed now and then a concerned brow or a compassionate smile, while keeping at all time a respectful and distant posture, though gently bent forward out of attention. Hester was overwhelmed, and all the more confused that she could not understand this subjugation. She often looked away or lowered her eyes during her recounting. For the first time, she was scared of a man. Her pride bowed down to him like the reed to the wind. This man of God genuinely had a power that upset her.

"I say, your husband surely shows a admirable trust in your righteousness and steadfastness, to send you on your own in a faraway land. This is a real tribute to your marriage-bonds, don't you think?"

Hester never looked at her situation that way, but she welcomed the remark with a true relief. Hopefully, the reverend could be right.

"In truth, I intended to write him a letter, that night we met in the living room…" she confessed.

She could not finish, for the Governor and one of his officers had come to them. Dimmesdale got up slowly.

"Here you are, Master Dimmesdale" Bellingham said with a loud voice. "Everybody is curious to hear what you have to say about what happened in London. John Warburton keeps maintaining the King abused his prerogatives."

"Forgive me your worship, I was rather having a word with Mistress Prynne here, and marvelling –is it not the day? –at one of the most, idealistic illustrations of conjugal partnership."

"Ay, I learned about Mr Prynne's leap of faith. This is truly remarkable –Would you do the same with your own wife, Officer Power?"

"God help me, I cannot say" The officer answered. "I believe I care too much about my wife to send her alone on a perilous journey to the other end of the world."

The blow drained the blood from Hester's face, and she gazed at the carpet. An awkward silence followed the blunt assertion, before Governor Bellingham cleared his throat.

"I say, Officer Power, that is the answer of a man who lacks confidence"

"If you will excuse me"

Hester curtsied hastily and walked away, fighting the tears. Before she could reach the door, Mistress Hibbins and Jack Firestone intercepted her.

"Now, child" he encouraged her, "Do not run away."

They drew the young woman on the side, standing in front of her to prevent any indiscreet eye and give her time to compose herself.

"You poor thing", Mistress Hibbins. "We heard every single word. Men are ruthless creature, are they not?"

"Ay" Hester moaned, between uncontrollable sobs.

The woman Hester had thought earlier unkind and unpleasant now handed a handkerchief over to her, patting her back in a protective gesture.

"This Andrew Power is a brute" Firestone angrily deplored.

"But Good Reverend Dimmesdale looks very downhearted. Look, Jack! The godly man rebukes the lout one"

Attracted by the gathering, Elizabeth arrived, holding John by the hand. Her eyes widened when she beheld the red swollen eyelids of her guest.

"Mistress Prynne! What makes you cry the day of my marriage?"

"Mistress Prynne was deeply moved when she saw you two going hand in hand, and all those good wives who came along with their husbands." Mistress Hibbins replied.

Hester glanced at her with eyes full of grateful relief. She wiped her tears and returned a feeble smile to Elizabeth. The latter took her hands in hers.

"You shall not be alone! We shall be here for you! Shall we not, John?"

"You may count on us, Mistress Prynne." John generously answered without hesitation. Him and Elizabeth matched perfectly. "Our door shall always be opened for you."

"I greatly appreciate your kindness…" Hester assured them, "I am sorry I was not very well prepared for your marriage, but I could not compel myself to come empty-handed, so I resolved to sew a little something for you at the last moment, Mistress Warburton."

From the pocket of her apron, she took out a woman hat embroidered with white lace, subtly woven into floral patterns. Elizabeth received it with graceful amazement.

"Behold, John! Is it not beautiful?" She took off her own hat and put on the new one, and turned around to show him every angle. "Thank you so much, Mistress Prynne, you should not have! Allow me to kiss you!"

Elizabeth kissed her before Hester could give an answer. She gave thanks to God for providing so quickly to her loneliness. This surely promised to be a precious friendship.

Meanwhile, Governor Bellingham and Officer Power, now of a guilt-stricken countenance, entered their circle. Behind him, Dimmesdale had put on a look of severe righteousness, which told Hester he had been drawing upon his spiritual authority to awaken a careless man to his deeds and duties toward his neighbour.

"Ahem, Mistress Prynne…" Andrew Power humbly ventured. "My words earlier…"

"Pardon me" Hester snapped. "I do not know what you are talking about"

The officer blinked at her, disconcerted.

"I must insist…" he tried again.

"Have a look at this hat, my good sirs", Hibbins cut off, waving at Elizabeth.

"Well, I do not remember you wearing this hat a few moments ago, Mistress Warburton" Bellingham admitted.

"You remember well, your worship." Elizabeth smiled, a sparkle of pride in her eyes. "This is a wedding present from Mistress Prynne".

In the meantime, now in need of confession and forgiveness, officer Power risked another approach to attract Hester's attention, but she ignored him. Lost, he turned to Dimmesdale, who silently signified him to give up.

"Many a matron will envy you this little piece of art", Hibbins declared to Elizabeth. "Made in a day and night!"

"Consider such refinement and skill in the fancy, your worship", Firestone suggested. "Surely your draper should take notice. Had you not told me about your struggling to find a new tailor for the Election Day?"

From the corner of her eyes, Hester saw Andrew Power straighten himself and stare at Jack Firestone. It was likely that he took notice of the architect only now.

"Hitherto I have found none indeed", the Governor answered, bending to have a closer look at the hat. "Mistress Mann was a possible candidate, but Hester Prynne reveals here a striking talent. Were I not so anxious to look impartial, I would go so far as to say that you have no equal in the Massachusetts Bay colony. What do you think officer Power?"

"As a man of law, I do not presume to pronounce myself on such matters", Power replied sombrely.

"I shall need the judgment of a man of God, then" Bellingham retorted. "Do you taste beauty, Master Dimmesdale?"

"In truth, I find you much reckless to ask me so!" the reverend evasively answered. "But here comes draper Rockwell. I daresay his verdict deserves our careful consideration".

Henry Rockwell was an elder man with sharp blue eyes and a grey hair falling upon his shoulders. He wore a brown suit and an elegant large-brimmed hat with a feather. His ears had caught bribes of the debate.

"Are you now talking about pattern and embroidery, good people?" he guessed.

"Ay, we may very well have just found our new tailor for the next Election Day, if you will take the time to consider it."

Hester silently watched the thread of her fate being woven out. Everything was happening so quickly she was petrified, not so much by fear as by boiling expectation. Truly, the fact that the work of her hands was being praised by so many did not displease her vanity. She frequently glanced at Arthur Dimmesdale, unconsciously checking on his face the slightest sign of wonder or approval. To her disappointment, she was only to notice a seemingly indifference, or at least, detachment on his part toward the emblem of her fame. His looks would often melt away into other spheres of thoughts she was denied the access, though burning to enter.

The draper, carefully and with an expert eye, considered the subtlety and style of Hester's embroidery. Not one angle escaped his merciless examination and defiant touch. From time to time, he would raise his eyebrows in true bewilderment.

"Is it the work of a man or a woman?" he eventually asked.

"It is the work of Mistress Prynne here" Firestone gave her a knowing smile.

"I take it as greatly valuable it is not too much of a womanish taste. Can you present a work of similar quality on any material, Mistress Prynne?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Quite well, sir, if I am given the time and the proper tools."

"Would you then be interested in exercising your craft on Judge Right, Reverend Dimmesdale and myself in view of the coming Election Day?" Governor Bellingham asked her. "You shall work in collaboration with Mr Rockwell here, and of course, you shall be paid accordingly."

All eyes were now turned to Hester, but it was only when she felt Dimmesdale's look piercing her that she blushed slightly, a reaction her fierce and passionate nature was not at all familiar with.

"I would be honoured, sir" she simply said.

"The reputation and prestige of our glorious colony shall owe you a lot, Mistress Prynne"

At that moment, a servant in blue coat hurried toward officer Power, and whispered something to his ear from behind. Power's face suddenly became very pale and his eyes distressfully shrank. He nodded, then turned to the freshly married couple, taking his hat off.

"I pray, my young friends, forgive me –an emergency…"

A surge of emotion impeded him to finish.

"Any bad news, Mr Power?" John enquired with alarm.

"Very distressful news indeed…my son fell from his horse and lost consciousness. I must leave at once."

"Precious Lord!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"You must go for sure" John said very seriously, "And I am going with you. Elizabeth my dear, look after our guests while I am away, will you?"

"Let me come as well, Mr Power" Dimmesdale offered.

"Ay, please do, I beg of you" Power spoke with a pleading voice, and Hester could not help feeling a pang in her heart for the poor man whose lack of delicacy had nonetheless wronged her earlier. "I…I do not know what to expect…"

The reverend put a comforting hand on his restless shoulder. "No more. Let us go forthwith".

"You may take two of my horses to speed your course" Governor Bellingham informed Dimmesdale and John, who had come walking, and he instructed a servant. The four men left the hall in great haste.

As soon as they were gone, the young bride sympathetically burst into tears.

"Poor, poor Dorothea!" Elizabeth whimpered.

Hester held her shaking hand, and tried to comfort her with all the soothing and hopeful words she could foster.

"We must pray for the boy, ladies! He is only eight!"

Ladies? Hester looked around her. Mistress Hibbins stood there, but Firestone was gone.


	3. Chapter 3 : In the Land of Women

**3**

 **In The Land Of Women**

Elizabeth's recent marriage and her new obligations did not prevent her from keeping a benevolent eye on Hester's well being and inclusion among her new neighbours. This was not an easy task, though : for, if men would fain show themselves courteous, Hester could feel a natural reluctance in almost every woman's eyes at her sight, that she painfully tried to disentangle.

One day, Elizabeth introduced her new friend to the sewing afternoon at Mistress Jones', one of the eldest sisters of the parish. This widow enjoyed the company and freshness of young girls and young women, and took at heart to help them, either in lending a thoughtful ear to their problems, or finding solutions out of her long experience of life. Thus, she would reunite every week in her home –a vast one, for she was quite fortunate –the young females of the parish. Such reunions were designed to encourage stronger bonds between the girls and young women of the church, at this timid and fearful age, which naturally shrink away from new acquaintances with a blush.

Biscuits and refreshments were put on the table in the middle of the room, while the young virgins joyfully cackled and laughed behind their piece of broidery and the young wives, though now separate from their younger mates by an irrevocable and significant alteration, but still close to them by the age and the heart, full of delicate and youthful fancies, evoked more calmly the new aspects and issues of their domestic life, and answer the questionings of the young one. Elizabeth seemed particularly close to a young woman –Margaret by her name -, not much older than her, but seemingly still unmarried. The reason for such a fate, to Hester's mind, was unquestionably her ugly face and ungracious body.

"Poor girl" she inwardly deplored with a throb of compassion –or was it the tickling finger of condescension and pride? Hester was grateful for her own beauty, yet it seemed that it never brought her a more enjoyable life than more common women, if not a less satisfying one. No knight in shining armour had ever abducted her on his horse, as it happened in fairy tales, but she was married to a wise, though unattractive old man. And now, she lived on her own in a faraway land that hardly possessed the excitement and constant renewal of the continent.

"I wonder how Mistress Power is doing", she thought out loud.

"I visited her two days ago" Elizabeth answered sadly. "She is devastated, yet still praying for the recovery of the child. He is in a strange state now, between life and death. Still breathing, yet totally insensitive and paralysed."

"I had a glimpse of him through the window yesterday" one of the youngest maiden, whose name was Mary, intervened. "I would not be let inside, but I could see his face, and it was white as death."

The news made more than one shudder unpleasantly in the room; however, Mary's friend Judith, a virgin with malicious eyes and a round childish face framed by blond curls, broke the solemnity with a taunting laugh.

"Everybody knows Mary did not go there to see the boy, but to see the reverend, who visits him everyday now!"

The girls sneered unkindly, and Mary blushed at first; but then she proudly retorted.

"When I am a grown woman, I will marry the reverend."

Hester beheld the young maid, who did not look older than fourteen, and shook her head with half a mocking smile, in spite of the pricking cramps she felt in her stomach. All the choir of virgin now talked about Arthur Dimmesdale, draping him with the most significant and worthy virtues humanly imaginable. The reverend's reputation of sanctity in the colony had quickly been made obvious to Hester; however, as a newcomer, she still had to fully understand it, and turned a distant, though attentive ear, at such fervent praises.

"Now, Mistress Prynne is shaking her head at you, Mary" the mischievous Judith went on. ""Oh, Reverend Dimmesdale!"" she imitated her friend voice, pretending to faint.

"Will you stop, you uncharitable girl?" Elizabeth scolded her. "It is bad to talk behind people's back. Now, I want all of you to act as if the reverend was sitting here, next to the window, and able to hear everything you say!"

"Mary, you should start blushing, then!" Judith stubbornly went on. "You always do at the church!"

All the little sister burst into a clear laughter. Mary stood up, red-faced with anger, and her work slipped down her knees.

"You are being so mean because you like the reverend too!" she fiercely fought back. "Do you believe I am too blind to see your ecstatic face whenever he stands at the pulpit?"

"Enough of that!" Elizabeth snapped again. "Tell us what you are working on, Hester."

Hester started. She felt less and less comfortable, sitting on the chair.

"Well, I am sewing a suit for Governor Bellingham. The Election Day is drawing close."

Hester displayed the mantle embroidered by her craft, and all the young ladies calmed down and surrounded her with amazed looks, eager to touch and see the shiny texture, the glimmering threads and the velvet robe.

"Oh, Mistress Prynne, you are so talented!"

"I wish I could embroider like you do! Will you teach me?"

"You could dress a prince!"

"I never saw anyone here wear garment of such splendour and refinement!"

"There is someone here who does" Judith answered with a low tone.

However, she did not dare to not venture any further. All malice was extinguished in her eyes, as if, at least so Hester guessed, she had lost all desire to laugh.

"Say, who is it?" inquired one maiden. "I never heard of this person, nor seen him".

"Speak, Judith" Mary insisted.

At last, she drew a deep breath and resolved herself to speak.

"The Black Man does."

All girls and women in the room froze in their activity and stared at Judith with a kind a fascinated horror. Hester frowned, and addressed Elizabeth a curious look, the woman, now pale and nervous, did not notice. What was this all about?

"You speak nonsense!" Mary retorted. "No one ever saw the Black Man. He hides into the depths of the forest, behind bushes and brakes during the day, and at night, the shadows conceal his figure."

"I am speaking the truth", Judith gravely maintained.

Her eyes were too deadly stern for a lie. She either spoke the truth, or lied with a demonic shamelessness.

"Who is the Black Man?" Hester asked.

One of the girls let out a small shriek.

"She does not know! Mistress Prynne does not know!"

"Do not tell her", Mary whispered to Judith. " The name is cursed!"

"He is the devil, the prince of Darkness." Judith bravely answered. "And my grandmother saw him with her own eyes!"

It must be said that the time was most profitable for the evocation and the sharing of chilling stories of the kind; for today, Mistress Jones, instead of sitting among the young people as was her habit, was having a peaceful nap upstairs. Otherwise, she would have arbitrarily closed the subject and decreed a common prayer long before the matter had arrived to such dreadful confessions. The old woman, in her naïve confidence, had chosen to entrust to the elder sisters the guard of the young one and the watch of the conversation, so that its stream might hold a straight and decent flow. However, Mistress Jones had not foreseen -had she remembered her youth with honesty! –That the guardians would not yield less than the youngest to a sudden and shameful fit of morbid fascination. As they said, wherever the devil was mentioned, there he hurried in great haste: and the spell did work indeed. The hearers, consciously or not, were now all craving to hear Judith's sinister story.

The young girl sat down solemnly, and began the dark tale, until then concealed within the secret walls of the household.

"My mother had a very young brother, the last one of the house; he was dearly loved and cherished, but one day, he did not come back from his play with the children of the neighbourhood. My grandfather, when he had thoroughly searched the village, went to look for the child into the woods. However, the night came, but he did not come back. My grandmother stayed awake for his return, but at midnight, as there was still no sign of him, worried to death, she knocked at the neighbours' door and begged the men to come with her into the forest. She feared something might have happened to her husband. They vainly tried to bring her to her senses: indeed, it was folly to venture into the wood by a pitch-black and snowy night like that one, and they should have waited until morning. But she would not listen, and as they could not resolve to let her go alone, they took lanterns, dogs and rifles with them and followed her. The woods were frozen, and the air so chilly every breath was painful, but it was the deathly silence of an otherwise lively and noisy place, now ominously still under the falling snow, that made them shiver the most. Their callings and the barking of the dogs soon resounded under the trees.

"At one point, when they were so deeply advanced that all sign of the village behind them had long disappeared, the dogs suddenly stopped barking, and recoiled with whines of terror, as if they had felt something in the surrounding darkness. Their masters' commands were not enough to hold them still, and they ran back to the village, leaving the few humans behind.

"Their flight was followed by a horrendous shriek, piercing the darkness, and freezing the blood in their veins. The dread and despair that filled it scarcely sounded human. Some men believed it was a witch, but my grandmother said she recognized the voice of her husband. Hardly knowing whether they should rejoice or panic they nonetheless ran after her to the side whence the scream seemed to come.

"They found him next to a fallen tree, lying in the snow. Drawing the lantern closer to him, they behold a face as white as death and eyes wide with unspeakable horror. The man was dying, but he was not dead yet, and when his errant eyes fell upon his wife, who was bent over him, and recognized her, he gripped her shoulders.

" "I saw him!" he muttered desperately. "The Black Man! There he stands, and waits for his bride!"

"He had spoken in a whisper, so that the men could not hear anything save a confused and half-extinct gibberish. But my grandmother heard, and filled with infused dread, his words haunted her on the way back to the village. Slightly at the rear of the group of men who were now carrying her dying husband, she kept glancing back. She scarcely knew what she expected to see, and a part of herself told her that the man had only spoken in his delirium. However, at the moment she began to turn her head away and hurry forward…"

Judith paused for the sake of the effect, and, aware of the torment her delaying was now inflicting on her listeners, she stepped forward and extended an accusing finger at the embroidered and damasked mantle.

"There, in the dim and pale light of the moon, standing in the middle of a small clearing, between the crooked boughs of scraggy bushes, there she saw the passing figure of a man clothed all in black! –except for this, that all over his body the curvy and bramble-like, or softer lines of the broidered filigrees of his garment, were blazing red in the night, like the ever smouldering fires of the lower regions. His eyes alike were aflame with the fierceness of evil passion, and upon his tenebrous chest, a red, burning symbol. His dark cloak hanged down to the immaculate ground below, that he slowly trod with the prideful contempt of a Spanish prince.

"Such terror seized my grandmother's heart she thought she would not survive the sight; but the time for her to blink, and the figure had vanished into the darkness. Only the dead, white snow, untouched by human or animal foot, remained where she had seen him walked by.

"My grandfather had no injury, nor apparent alteration. Neither did he feel any pain. But he, who had always been of an unshakable health, he died mysteriously the same night. People said he died out of fear. As for the boy, his body was never found."

A heavy silence followed those last words, before the members of the audience began to release their breath and attention. No one dared, or only felt the desire, to laugh to exorcise the evil remnants of the long-standing fright of that snowy night. The visions arisen in their imagination by the thrilling telling haunted them a few more moments; until another girl started to speak, as if to add another share of cursed revelation.

"I heard of this symbol before." She confessed with a trembling voice. "People say it is the Devil's mark, that he applies on every men and women who conclude a pact with him; so that on the Judgement Day, he may claim them as his own."

"Nay" Judith objected solemnly. "Have you not heard what I said? The Black Man is looking for a bride, upon whose bosom the red mark shall blaze too; Methinks she shall be a beautiful woman coming from the old corrupted world, where Satan is king. And the child he will father…"

"This conversation has been going too far" Elizabeth eventually intervened, probably as a matter of conscience, even though the harm had already been done. "Now, you will not tell anybody what we have been discussing in this room today. And I hope you are aware that the Black Man can do no wrong to a true Christian, and that instead of looking for vision and fearing shadows, you had best watch and guard your heart! This is where the demon has the strongest foothold!"

Hester rose up, and fold the piece of cloth she had been working on into the basket, along with her sewing box. The cramps in her lower stomach and back were now a torment to endure. Beside, she found the place rather oppressive now that such dark subjects had been invited.

"Where are you going?" Elizabeth asked, surprised.

"I feel tired "she answered. "I am walking home. Thank you so much for inviting me".

"Well I thought the conversation would be more pleasant" she rolled her eyes. " I am sorry. Have a good rest, Hester! We shall see each other soon enough".

As soon as Hester left the room and closed the door behind her, she could hear the cackles and giggles of the young female flock start again. It resounded with an obsessive, and why not –she could admit it- an irritating restlessness she, in her present state, was hardly able to withstand for long without flying into a temper, as her passionate nature often compelled her to. Beside her lingering stomach pain, her bad headache was very unsuitable for the shrilling and piping tones of girlish babble.

Outside, the fresh air and the blowing wind stroking her face brought some relief to her boiling mind. She walked down the little hill where Mistress Jones' dwelling had been built. The road crossed an open field, and the young woman went on her way among slow-witted sheep grazing and watching her with haggard looks. Hester rocked her basket back and forth, to relax her tense body and try to forget the pain. However, the more she walked, the more intense the pain became at each step, until it rose to a peak, throbbing inside her womb so strongly she had to stop and lean against a fence, breathless.

It was a very uncomfortable situation to be in, she thought. Anybody could chance upon her and worry, or, worse, understand in which monthly state she found herself to be. She patiently bore the pain, waiting a little time for it to pass away.

"Well, what do we have here?" cried a familiar voice behind her.

Mistress Hibbins stood beside her, clothed in a rich dress, not so much by the material and amount of lace and precious shiny threads than by the purple colour of it, mostly reserved for people of high social rank and prestigious status. She held a stick with a golden head in her gloved hand. There was something about the woman Hester could not define, and that still repelled her, even if the lady had turned out to be a benevolent and helpful person at Elizabeth's marriage. She could neither put it on her complexion, nor even on her heavy and excessive adornment.

"Oh, good day to you, Mistress Hibbins."

"I cannot return the pleasantry with that pale and tense face of yours, Mistress Prynne. Where does it hurt?"

"Monthly pains" she let out in a breath, without thinking. "It has always been quite intense, and I learned to endure it. I shall be fine."

The old woman did not look much impressed.

"Why, you do not have to suffer so badly! I know a medicine to kill the pain"

"I thank you, but no medicine ever proved efficient."

Hibbins did not seem to notice her involuntary sharp tone.

"I am not talking about those miraculous drops old quacks will tell you to pour upon you tongue, my dear. Mister Firestone knows the plants very well, and he has healed many a young woman through their monthly agony. Now, come with me."

Hester, too weary to fight, followed the old lady half-heartedly.

* * *

The house of Jack Firestone was an impressive dwelling close, by the size and the looks of old gentility, to a manor. The walls were of granite stone with ivy creeping upon it and around the windows, the latters designed in the finest English style. The two women passed a slender gate and entered a beautiful garden, until then concealed to their eyes by the surrounding wall. Hester cried in wonder, when she beheld the blooming bushes of large roundish roses growing along the pathway leading to the house. They were white, pink, yellow, red, and displayed a picture of so many bursting spots of the brightest colours before her eyes, the blinding sunlight enhancing so much their glorious glow, that Hester's head slightly turned.

A few steps further, Firestone stood in the middle of this new Eden, looking after the precious flowers and cutting off weeds or ill stems. He beckoned to Hester and Mistress Hibbins when he noticed their presence. Drawing closer, Hester found the man as serene as ever, and his eyes, as they condensed the surrounding light, were brighter than ever before in their undersea mystery.

"Good day to you, my good ladies. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

"Young Mistress Prynne here needs your special attention for bad monthly pains. The poor thing was close to fainting when I met her on the way."

Firestone looked at Hester with the sly smile she had known him when he had shown her around his house the day they first met, and she could not refrain from shuddering. Perhaps it was the result of her imagination, her present sense of acute receptivity and alertness turning a simple displeasure into a physical reaction; or it could be that there truly was something chillingly disturbing in that smile. Both statements being possible, Hester chose to believe the first one, and put it on her feverish restlessness.

"Well, I have something here for Mistress Prynne, if she will follow me inside." Firestone said.

He ushered her into a spacious hall and then an adjoining salon. Hester sat down in a deep cosy seat with velvet armrests, next to the window. There were about five shells full of books on the opposite wall, their dusty edges dimly lit by the sunlight piercing through the window. Firestone left the room for a few minutes, and then came back with a glass of water and a small bottle filled with brown powder. He poured two spoons of the mixture into the glass. The clear water turned into a black smoky filter he handed over to Hester.

"There" he concluded. "Alas, neither is the look attractive, nor the taste excellent. I can promise you a swift result, though."

The child in Hester disgustedly winced at the sight of the glass. However, at this time of the month, the grown woman always prevailed, and it would have been much surprising to be otherwise.

"Thank you, good sir"

The smell was horrendous. She held her breath and drank the brew in one draught, before Firestone's amused eyes

"You may stay here a little while, the time for the medicine to release its effects on your body. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Hester raised her eyes to the man that was so good to her.

"I have not had the time to thank you for your kindness and discretion at the wedding", she said with a rare earnestness. "The consequences would have been disastrous, had you and Mistress Hibbins not been there."

"Do join us in the garden when you feel better" he simply invited her, before leaving the room.

Left on her own, Hester spent most of her time in random thoughts, her eyes lost in the bright blue sky out of the window. From the inside, she could see at the end of the garden that skirted the woods, half-covered under the wide branches of the pine, a rock, out of which joyful streams of clear bright water flowed out, mirroring the sun. So this was the envied spring Elizabeth told her about. Feeling bored, she eventually approached the shelves and began to read the titles engraved on the edges. Most of them were unknown to her. The collection included English translations of apparently antique authors and discourses, treaties on plants and astrology, along with poetry compilations. Hester, out of woman's natural preference for the beautiful and sensitive, picked up a book by John Donne. She used to read Donne with a peculiar pleasure in London –most of the time away from her mother's eyes –for indeed, and the compilation she presently held in her hands only confirmed the poet's reputation, most of his work was about love, spiritual as well as physical. She dove into the erotic verses with rare delight.

" _Oh, my America, my new-found land,_

 _My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,_

 _My mine of precious stones, my empery;_

 _How blest am I in this discovering thee!_ "

However, as always when she read or heard about happy love, or saw anything around her approaching it, pleasure dissolved into stabbing pain. For she knew that, unless she broke God's sacred command, she would never know the passionate embrace of a beloved man. The reading arose some vague, confused thoughts, the lustful content of which she quickly realized.

 _Put the book down, Hester_.

She obeyed half-heartedly. It was for the sake of religion, but also for her own sake, as she was only hurting herself the more by comparing her fancies with the dull reality of her life.

However, the moment she closed the book –that is, about half an hour after her taking the medicine –she suddenly realized in disbelief that all pain was gone. The extraordinary result sent her into a transport of gratitude toward Firestone. The bitterest the torment, the more excessive the love for the deliverer: Such was Hester's state of mind when she almost childishly flung herself outside. Firestone, while chatting with Mistress Hibbins, kept on taking care of the flowers as of the many wives of a sultan's harem. Both stopped talking when they saw Hester coming to them.

"Do you feel better?" Firestone asked, even though his playful expression revealed he had not the slightest doubt as for the answer.

"The effects are marvellous", she replied. "It is such a heavy burden you have lifted up from my shoulders, Mister Firestone!"

"Ay, it is true woman is the less fortunate sex by far" the man unexpectedly declared. "However, in measure of what she endures in every aspect of her life, I would willingly assess she proves to be the strongest of the two."

"I say, you love women too much, Good mister Firestone" Hibbins cried. "This shall bring you no good!"

"I love women, this I confess" Firestone retorted. "And methinks these tender and beautiful flowers need the most watchful eye and the sweetest hand for their full blooming."

Thereon he cut off from its stem one of the most triumphantly opened of the scarlet roses of the bush, which, in its rich attire, weighted heavily on the robust branch, and graciously handed it to Hester.

"For you, child" he gently said. "And give me one of your smiles".

The young woman, completely enthralled, could not think much. She took the rose with a blushing smile. Her melancholic face suddenly lit up, and all the facets of her youthful complexion were renewed in a bloom of splendour. Her exceptional beauty shone out like the dawning sun over a gloomy valley at the end of the night: its brightness first stirs up the slumbering orchestra of the birds, which, rising its chirping and fresh symphony, fill the numb earth with their morning worship, inviting the rest of their kind, and every animal that crawls or walk, every flower and tree, every flowing river, to join them; until all of nature, wide awake, bursts into glorious praise to its mighty Creator. Any man standing in front of Hester Prynne at that moment, were his heart as cold as ice, would feel this surge of life flowing through him again, and crave for a kiss from such a gorgeous dawn. Thus, the magic touch of something as simple and worthless as a rose woke up the languid flower of Hester's womanhood.

"Thank you" Hester was at loss for words, her heart throbbing with bliss. "If-if there is anything I could do to thank you…"

"Ah, but" the man interrupted. "This smile is precious enough to have its place among the shimmering treasures of a king!"

"I shall nonetheless return your kindness when the time comes" the young woman muttered, slipping the rose in the folds of her bodice, so that its spot of vivid colour shone out upon her bosom. The magic flower was endowed with such richness and grace it seemed only Hester could match its splendour properly.

* * *

Hester Prynne kept on smiling on the way back home. Her beauty, now fully revealed and enhanced by inner joy, drew every look. Young and elder gentleman alike would turn on her way, hit by some gripping spell. Women, on the other hand, stared in pale hatred, and it was not long before Hester could hear bribes of spiteful remarks hurled at her.

"She loves being the centre of the world, doesn't she?"

"And what about those embroidered dresses she wears everyday?"

"Ay, only because she has a pretty face, she thinks she may indulge in all her fancies!"

"" _I would be honoured!_ " Methinks she made the governor's head spin to extort him the favour!"

Hester's smile slowly vanished, until nothing remained of its golden and fleeting radiance. Sealing her lips, she bowed her head and sadly went on her way.


	4. Chapter 4 : Peacock Blue Silences

**4**

 **Red Spells and Peacock Blue Silences**

Arthur Dimmesdale could feel his heart stopping when he beheld, out of the window, the beaming apparition of a woman below, walking past the house, a scarlet rose laced on her bosom. Her look was absent, and yet happy; a radiant smile lingered on her fleshy lips. It took the young minister a few seconds to come back to his senses and realize that he actually knew her; she was, Hester Prynne; her new parishioner. However she seemed to be a different woman. Man of God as he was, he was still a man, and had not been oblivious of her exceptional beauty since the first time they met. Nonetheless, a latent sadness and melancholy on her features had concealed until then the glitter of this hidden treasure. The rose, he noticed in wonder, seemed to come from Jack Firestone's garden. He could not remember Firestone's cutting even the most dissatisfying and timid specimen of his precious jewels before. His eyes followed the young woman until she disappeared in the corner of the window.

As soon as she was out of sight, he knew the feeling of the dreamer waking up from the wonderful world of fantasy, slightly blinking. His young brow immediately darkened with sullen gloom, and he turned to the bed next to him, where the pale boy laid motionless and scarcely breathing, as if already in his coffin. His mother had not left his side since the accident, and even though her features were tired from the constant wake and her hair dishevelled, she would not move.

He had been praying with her for the recovery of the child; Even before the beginning of his early ministry, Young Master Dimmesdale had seen God's subtle, yet powerful hand in his life, and learned to obey Him faithfully in the midst of tempest. However, the state of the child gave him little hope, unlike the godly mother. Yet he went on praying out of obedience to God, who commanded to pray for the sick and the broken-hearted.

The sun was almost set, and now his tired mind, which had hitherto drifted to the concern of his sermon, now almost instinctively lingered over the beauty of Hester Prynne, the apparition still so vivid in his mind though away from his eyes. He had known beautiful women, and she had to be one of the most gorgeous creatures –he quickly broke off the stream of his wandering thoughts when he was conscious of their rebellion to his theocratic dominion. With treasures of godly will, he sternly sheltered his mind against them, yet could not hold back a sight in response to the pain now awaken in his heart.

"Thank you so much for coming, Good Master Dimmesdale" said the voice of the wretched woman behind him, and he turned around, fearing that she might have heard him and detected a sign of boredom.

She smiled at him with motherly, though weary eyes.

"It is late now, and you need to rest from your duties. Tomorrow is Sunday"

The young minister laid his hand on the rigid brow of the boy. He could not even see the small chest rising under the blanket.

"I shall come back tomorrow", he promised.

"Please, do nothing of it. You have many duties to perform and I am not the only parishioner you have."

"I shall come nonetheless" he insisted kindly, yet firmly, and took his leave.

On the threshold he met the unhappy father, officer Power, who was coming home from the house of the governor. He looked all the more depressed that there seemed to be, mixed with the natural gloom such a fateful blow implied, the underground growling of dark thoughts and resentment. The man, so it seemed to Dimmesdale, was obsessed with a growing idea that seemed everyday clearer to him and more obscure to any external observer, and that he would not willingly confess.

"What do you think, Good Master Dimmesdale?" he asked bluntly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The horse is a good horse, and a sweet horse." He went on with a low voice, blank with indefinable feelings.

"Horses can be unpredictable", Dimmesdale ventured with infinite patience, since Power, in his disbelief, had been stubbornly repeating the same objection since the accident. "In my early years, I was unseated by my father's stallion myself, and had my father not been swift enough to catch me, I would surely be dead now".

Such fixity of thought worried the reverend. What would come out of it eventually?

"The servant told me the boy suddenly became convulsive; the horse was scared, and got out of control. Arthur, I do not understand…Well, actually I think I do."

"What do you mean?" Dimmesdale inquired with concern.

Officer Power eventually fixed his errand eyes on him; for a moment, he seemed to deliberate with himself, then, trembling, he drew closer in a gesture of confession.

"God knows I am a wretched sinner; I have behaved badly my whole life, and I am not worthy of his mercy."

"None of us is" the young minister replied cautiously, utterly puzzled by the man's strange behaviour, as he could see no relation between the horse and that sudden _mea culpa_.

"But" Officer Power went on with a flickering voice, "I am not proud of my sins…what happened with Judith…"

"God forgave you about Judith" Dimmesdale softly interrupted. "Have you not confessed your sin and repented? Have you not done penance?"

"I…I have not told you everything"

"You do not have to. This is between you and God, and I am no papist to tell you otherwise"

"Still, I should have told you! For now, I believe…."

He stopped, unable to go further. Arthur Dimmesdale felt his own apprehension growing. His acute sensibility could perceive a horrible monster hiding behind this silence.

"Speak, then, if speaking may relieve your conscience." He eventually encouraged him. "However, it is not within my power to understand, nor to forgive, nor to judge."

"I have not told you who the _other_ man was", Power hardly explained. His voice was now so low it was close to breaking. "And now, I fear the secret may cause my ruin. And not only my ruin, but also that of many others…"

"Explain yourself!" Dimmesdale summoned him, growing impatient and alarmed.

But the man now fearfully stepped back, as if realizing he had gone too far; then he hastily walked away from the reverend, muttering to himself " _What have I done? What have I done_?" Dimmesdale, too dumbfounded to run after him, could scarcely recognize in this lost creature the man he once knew.

 _Has the man lost his mind?_

Arthur Dimmesdale resolved to talk to Officer Pride the next morning after the service, wishfully hoping the night would grant him the time to gather his senses. He slowly walked home with the mind full of concerns that had been his daily bread for a few weeks already. When he arrived at the pension, delicious smells drifting out of the kitchen into the common room assaulted his sleepy appetite. He realized he was hungry; he could hear female voices coming from the kitchen too.

"Mistress Prynne admirably conceals her pain, I grant you that. But sorrow can never escape my noticing"

It was the young servant Ann Blackwell speaking. The voice of Mistress Jones, the widow of the pension, replied:

"I think your sixth sense fooled you, then, and I will ask you to stop nosing around."

"I know nothing of this Mister Prynne" Ann angrily persisted. "But I know he must be a callous fellow, to prefer his business, whatever they could be, to his own wife! "

"Hold your tongue, Ann!"

Arthur Dimmesdale's naturally compassionate nature enjoined him to stay where he was, unnoticed, and to learn more about Mistress Prynne. Could the radiant young woman he had seen in the street be only an illusion? If so, he would not have been surprised, for the effect of her sudden apparition had proved too dazzling for him to handle. However, as his conscience resented listening at the door, he stepped openly into the kitchen and displayed a peaceful smile.

"God bless you, Goodwives"

Mistress Highaway, Mistress Jones and the servant Ann were absorbed in the preparation of the dinner; a big pumpkin was cut in two in the middle of the table, in the process of being minced by Ann's ruthless hands, while Mistress Highaway, sitting on a chair, peeled vegetables next to the fireplace. Mistress Jones rolled out a pastry, likely to be the base of a prospective pie.

"How good to see you, Master Dimmesdale" Mistress Highaway greeted him with the warmness she always showed for young people. "And what a surprise to see you so early! I guess I will not have to save you a share tonight."

"Not tonight, indeed. Do you mind if I occupy the desk after dinner?"

"Of course I don't. Dear Lord! Methinks you lost weight lately, my good reverend. You work so hard!" she sighted. "I hope you will enjoy the dinner tonight"

"You know I always do, Good Mistress Highaway."

He was burning to ask about Mistress Prynne. However, he held his tongue, poured himself a glass of water and left the women to their gossiping.

"Master Dimmesdale does not look that good neither, does he?" Ann observed once he was out of earshot.

"Praise be to God, he looks better than two weeks ago!" Mistress Jones categorically retorted.

"I have it he is recovering from something" the young servant judiciously insisted.

"Will you stop rummaging through people's privacy? For Heaven's sake!"

Dimmesdale walked up the stairs and entered his room. His small bed in the left hand corner of the room scarcely left enough space to pace the floor at ease. Soon, he told himself, he would have to move somewhere else –he needed more space for his books and a private place for his studies. Somewhere he would not have to wait for the silent peace of the night to fully concentrate. Not that his many tasks granted him so much time for study –this new way of practical living was so different from his candle-lit days in Oxford–but he nevertheless preferred a studious solitude that could have seemed contrary to the social imperatives of a pastor. This constant need to share his person with his flock, though he admirably concealed it, exhausted this young man : his reserved and shy nature disposed him more to withdraw in pious retirements. Had he been of the old and depraved faith of Rome, he would have been fit for the cloister. His spirit of sacrifice through his daily duties was stronger than the urges of his nature; but when the night came, Arthur Dimmesdale would give himself away to his unleashed passion and read until sleep would knock him off upon his books. His nights were unreasonably short and his duty heavy for his young shoulders; yet the inner fire that burnt into this fervent soul kept his strength awake and his will ready, until the harassing cries for mercy of his exhausted body –this precious God-given body that, if ever listened to, would prevent so many of man's follies! –would force him to surrender. There, on the very floor of this room, the young reverend could remember uncomfortable, yet inspired and frenzy night spent writing, oblivious of his strained limbs and hurting knees, when divine revelation would come on him like a rushing tide and prove impossible to resist in the middle of the night.

The air of the room was musty. Arthur Dimmesdale took off his mantle and headed for the window to open it. It was almost dark outside and the birds sang the last songs of the day in the woods slowly falling asleep. For a short moment, the young man swooned into silent prayer, leant on the ledge, the perfumes of the drowsy earth lifting it up like incense. A faint sound came to his ears: human sights, almost sobs. Troubled in his prayers, he opened his eyes and searched through the darkness the shadow of the desperate soul, but nothing moved under the window except the trees muttering in the evening wind. The sobs turned into a sad humming, among soft noises of crumpled cloth and the dry purr of threads being woven. Dimmesdale suddenly understood that the sounds came from above. Hester Prynne was upstairs, embroidering at the window! He stood still for a while, as if he feared any unfortunate gesture might make her flee like a fearful sparrow. Surely, it was an unreal situation, he thought, to be in another room and still have access to her most complete intimacy without her noticing! Here again, his sense of decency urged him to close the window and leave the young woman to her privacy; on the other hand, he was afraid to attract her attention by doing so and thus reveal his intrusion – a strange concern, we daresay, since there was no reason that Hester Prynne, lost in her thoughts and absorbed by her work, should take notice of his closing the window when she had not even taken heed of his opening it. Fortunately, Dimmesdale's dignity was saved by the raising wind, which led the woman to retire inside and close the window.

At last, the reverend allowed himself to breathe and gave thanks to God in his heart.

When it was dinnertime, Hester Prynne paused to compose herself in front of the mirror, anxious to erase from her features and her way of carrying any sign of the emotional surge of the afternoon. Through the mirror, she could see Mr Firestone's rose, delicately slid into a glass of water next to her bed. The sight provoked a faint smile. Mr Firestone surely knew how to treat women; he knew the art of making her feel exceedingly exceptional. Could it be that he had been courting her? The thought was not unpleasant to Hester, even though she had enough moral to be ashamed of it. Nevertheless, Firestone's behaviour was so subtle and so devoid of any inappropriate gesture or looks she could hardly determine whether to attribute it to chivalry or to seduction.

When the young woman had fully mastered herself again, she walked down the stairs. However, the evening had reserved to poor Hester further emotional ordeal, for she soon unveiled Mistress Highaway's plan to place her next to Reverend Dimmesdale at the table. It was undisputable that the caring landlady meant well–she was indeed confident in Dimmesdale's ability to bring comfort and hope to his listeners, even when he was not preaching. "Our saint shall bring her joy, whatever saddens her" had she signified to her friend Mrs Jones with a knowing nod –but sadly enough, she could not have chosen a more awkward arrangement, for the two young people, since their first encounter in uncomfortably intimate circumstances, had for each other contradictory feelings of silent understanding and defiance. Now invited to sit next to each other, they first instinctively avoided each other's looks; but the pastor in Dimmesdale scolded him for such uncharitable behaviour, and he silently took upon himself to make the evening as comfortable as possible to Hester Prynne.

"Good Master Dimmesdale, would you like to say grace for us?"

"Certainly"

The guest bowed their heads, and the reverend spoke a prayer. Even though this prayer was short, every word of it was so deeply meaningful and tenderly spoken, that the emotion of Arthur Dimmesdale's vibrant faith permeated the surrounding guests and stirred Hester's heart.

 _This man…_ she thought in wonder.

Everybody sat down, and slowly, the guests started to speak everywhere around the table. Dimmesdale turned to her, and as often when he did, Hester looked away. She did not realize that her gesture could be perceived by the outside look as a sign of arrogance or impatience, and it was likely that Arthur Dimmesdale felt unwanted.

"How was your day, Mistress Prynne? I hope you are getting used to the air of the New World and to the American lifestyle."

"More and more, Good Sir." She lied. "Thank you for your consideration."

"It occurred to me that Mistress Warburton is very fond of you." At least, so the young bride had confessed to him not long before. "Has she introduced you to the young sisters of the church?"

"Yes." Hester was startled that he should know. "In fact, she invited me to the sewing afternoon at Mistress Jones' today."

When she dared to look up at him, he smiled to her.

"The former minister told me Mistress Warburton has always taken to heart the mentoring of the young ones. The sewing afternoons were her idea. Until then, there was no circle for the young girls of the church to meet, and the young married women would find themselves with ladies far beyond their age. Have you enjoyed it?"

While he spoke, Hester told herself that peacock blue would suit his pale skin and black curls heavenly well.

"I believe I have. These are… _high-spirited_ young sisters we have here."

Hester bit her tongue. She had spoken foolishly. As Dimmesdale's pleasant brow turned more puzzled at these words, she swiftly added:

"How is Officer Power? I heard the boy is still unconscious"

The question, to Hester's surprise, seemed to make the reverend uneasy.

"To speak the truth, I believe he is deeply distraught" he almost muttered.

"And the mother?"

"She is strong."

All of sudden, Hester was overcome by the feeling of her own foolishness; she was burning inside. The two of them had so much more to tell each other, this woman heart thought. Had she been the only one to be so deeply moved that day at the church, when she had caught his eyes? She could neither believe it, nor accept it. Besides, it would be misleading to believe that Hester Prynne, if she was susceptible to Jack Firestone's charms, felt for the man –and for any other man that ever courted her or that she ever liked –anything close to her mysterious attraction to Arthur Dimmesdale. Not that she could fully consider it as love, for Hester Prynne had never been in love before, and thus, could but poorly recognize its signs. However, she somehow unconsciously wallowed in the ambiguity of such fascination. Because of it, the married woman could be blameless, and the adventurous woman could fully enjoy the pleasure of seduction and expectation.

"And you, my Good Sir?" she asked eventually, her natural boldness momentarily recovered "You never speak about yourself."

"Oh, truly?" he retorted with a sudden aloofness in his tone.

Now she could feel with alarm his whole body gradually withdrawing from hers. However, a strange annoyance drove her to insist.

"No, Sir. Even though you know everything about me."

"God forbids! Since when?"

It was Hester's turn to look at him with bewilderment.

"Well, since I told you my story." She explained. "Do you not remember asking me about my life, at the Governor's?"

"Forgive me, Mistress Prynne" he evasively replied, "I am deeply sorry to learn you felt _compelled_ to disclose your life to me. You were free to refuse, of course. I never meant to intrude on…your privacy."

Suddenly, the doorbell in the next room rang. The servant Ann entered the dining room with a letter in her hand. All eyes were silently fixed on her.

"Well ?" Mrs Highaway asked.

"A letter for Mistress Prynne." Ann answered. "From Amsterdam".

Hester felt her heart beating harder inside her chest, pale and shaking. She received the precious letter without a word. She could not compel herself to wait for the dinner to end.

"Will you excuse me?" she asked Mrs. Highaway, who watched her with good humour.

"Of course, my dear"

Hester rose up and hurriedly left the room. Once alone in the living, she knelt down on the carpet next to the fireplace to have some light, and opened the letter with quavering fingers. The paper was sticky and smelled the sea; the thin and precise writing was easily recognizable.

 _To my sweet wife,_

 _It is with utter relief that I learned, from your precious hand, of your arrival safe and sound in Boston. The journey time between the two continents is against us: indeed, I know several weeks will have passed when you receive my answer, an interval that rises new concerns. I hope that by the time you read this letter, you have been able to settle down properly, and to get acquainted with our new neighbours. I was not certain to write you back, since I was supposed to leave shortly after your letter came to me, but fate decided otherwise: our ship has been stuck in the harbour for three weeks already, waiting for another ship from Sweden to make the journey with us. It still has not arrived. I spoke with the captain, who told me that the company would not suffer any more delay, and that for the sake of business, we would set sail whatever happens next week. With a month's delay, I am thus confident of seeing you soon. I hope you have enough money; I do not want my wife to have to work with her hands. Do not worry about writing me back, since by the time your letter arrives, I shall be at sea._

 _Your affectionate husband,_

 _Roger Prynne_

 _P.S: Consider Boston as your definite home: I promise we shall no longer live the wandering life of those last months. Ensure that you find a house with enough space for both of us –and also for several children._

Hester put the letter down and watched the flickering shadows of the chimney, as changing as the feelings of her heart. Did she have to rejoice in receiving news from her husband, or mourn a further delay? Would she display relief or sadness on her features? She felt lost, and was convinced that her heart would one day kill her. She put on her mask.

When she walked back to the dining room, all whispers stopped.

"News from your husband, my dear?" asked the landlady.

"Yes…he has been delayed. About a month…I am so sorry"

"Don't worry! You may stay here as long as you wish, there is space for you."

"You are so good to me, Mistress Highaway."

She sat down in silence, next to Arthur Dimmesdale. He said nothing, but it seemed to Hester that, inexplicably, the inner distress she struggled to conceal had not escaped him. And at the same moment, she was seized by the extraordinary impulse, almost irresistible, to reach for his hand under the table, as a catholic would seek the touch of holy relics for comfort and healing. Dumbfounded and burning, she clutched her fists on her laps, oblivious of the rustling of her husband's crumpled letter.


	5. Chapter 5 : Acrid Perfume of Witchcraft

**An Acrid Perfume of Witchcraft**

 **Hello guys, I am back ! Thank you so much for you reviews and your following. To be forgiven, I resolved to post a much longer chapter exceptionally ! Enjoy and feel free to review! I love to know that I write for people.**

The day after was Sunday, and it had been decided that all the tenants of the pension should leave together for the morning service in Mr. Rollberd's carriage, since the church was a walk far from the pension. Reverend Dimmesdale had preceded them hastily. Hester had put on one of her most beautiful hat, embroidered with red silk, upon her untied black curls, and a very pleasant collaret that enhanced her slim throat beautifully. Her sleep had been disturbed by strange black figures and blazing red threads in the night, and the phantom face of her husband; and yet she managed to look beautiful and fresh. She walked down the stairs and met the rest of the pensioners in front of the house.

"Oh my, how gorgeous you look, Mistress Prynne!" Ann complimented Hester as soon as the young woman climbed into the carriage and sat next to her.

"Thank you dear"

As usual, the male pensioners dared not flatter her, and most females were too jealous of her beauty to do so.

"I hope you do not feel too miserable about your husband's delay, Mistress Prynne", said Deborah, a middle-aged widow, before muttering to her neighbour with a mocking smile: "She really _does_ believe herself in London!"

"I shall see my husband soon enough, but thank you for your trouble" Hester politely replied, even though she could feel the flame of hate burning inside her bosom.

When the carriage arrived in sight of the church, dozens of parishioners were already converging toward the white-painted wooden church, at the sound of the flying bells, like a flock of peaceful sheep gathering at the voice of their shepherd. It was a lovely and comforting sight for Hester –but was it for the joy of Christian concord or the expectation of the desired shepherd, Hester's heart was too confused to be sure. The pensioners got off the carriage hurriedly. Immediately, Hester looked around, searching for _him_ : and him she saw from afar, standing in a grave black gown at the porch of the church and welcoming his parishioners with his warm smile. At this precise moment, he was in conversation with John and Elizabeth. Hester absently gave her arm to Mistress Highaway and pretended to pay attention to the old lady's uttered concern about the stormy sky, as they drew closer. There was something she could read on the reverend's face while he spoke to Elizabeth that had caught her attention –something so fleeting yet so deep –in the way he looked at her. When he listened to her voice, he would not only return her look, as he usually would with everybody else, but also considered her whole face thoughtfully with quick moves of the eyes he maybe was not even aware of. These tiny gestures would have been meaningless to anybody else, but to Hester, who had always been more observant than talkative, this was a language she was confident to decipher: it meant that Arthur Dimmesdale knew Elizabeth in a specific way.

The Warburton couple and the reverend were about to part when Hester and Mistress Highaway reached to top of the stairs.

"Hester!" Elizabeth exclaimed when she saw her.

"You should come inside quickly", said Arthur Dimmesdale as he smiled to the newcomers, recovering –Hester noticed –his usual look. "The rain may fall at any moment now".

The young woman felt a pit of disappointment inside of her. The reverend's way of being kind and attentive to everybody was more tormenting to Hester than if he had been frankly indifferent to her, as it was nearly impossible to discern in his manners any token of preference –safe for Elizabeth, of course. She found it impossible to accept to share Dimmesdale's peculiar attention and deep love for every single one of his sheep, in a nutshell, to accept to be only one soul among others for him. In her eyes, it was just as if she was not loved at all, and she would rather reject her precious share of Christian love, that Arthur Dimmesdale gave wholeheartedly and that was such a rarity in the many communities of men, than be treated like everybody else by the man she desired.

Overwhelmed by these confused feelings, Hester, deeply annoyed, ignored the reverend's courteous salutation and walked past him without a word, leaving Mistress Highaway behind. Such unusual behaviour was so startling for her friends that Elizabeth wondered if she had said anything offending.

"No, Elizabeth –I mean, Mistress Warburton" Dimmesdale comforted her. "But I believe Mistress Prynne would greatly need your company and your good heart at this time."

"What do you mean, Arthur?"

At first, Dimmesdale would not speak, fearing to be indiscreet. When he noticed the conversation had now shifted to some pastoral matter, John wisely considered moving inside and joining the men's benches, to leave Elizabeth and the reverend discuss the secret problem.

"Yesterday night, she received a letter from her husband, telling her he would be delayed" Dimmesdale explained at last.

"Dear Lord... Thank you, Arthur, I will take care of her" She made a move to come inside, but stopped before, as if she remembered something. She turned back to the reverend. Her eyes were bright. "Before that, there is something I want you to be the first among our friends to know…I am with child!"

The minister welcomed the news with an outward joy, yet a diffuse sadness within.

"Is it not beautiful, Elizabeth?" He congratulated her. "God has finally blessed your marriage with John."

Elizabeth, feeling his sorrow, imperceptibly took his hand and pressed it in a compassionate gesture, before going inside. Left alone, Dimmesdale painfully sighed, and looked around him. As far as he could see now, the latecomers had arrived. However, he still could see no sign of Mister or Mistress Power. He prayed silently that no woe had happened. As dark thoughts began to worry him, a drop of rain spattered on his cheek. He looked up and saw the black stormy sky before he heard the thunder rolling. Slowly, after checking one last time the surroundings, he withdrew into the church, letting the two parish guards take his place on the doorstep, a musket in their hands.

Hester jumped a little when Elizabeth briskly sat on the bench next to her, bringing with her the fresh morning breeze and the chills of spring on her cheeks.

"Hester" she kindly muttered without preamble, "Would you like to come for luncheon at home after the church?"

"But it's the Lord's Day, surely you want to have a personal time with John"

"What I want to say is" she softly insisted. "We would be delighted to have you for luncheon."

Hester nodded, touched as always by Elizabeth's good heart.

"I shall come, then"

By the time, the Minister had climbed up the pulpit; Hester suddenly felt a burning gaze on her neck. She carefully looked behind and met Jack Firestone's stare. The man stood on the other side of the benches, among the gentlemen, and silently acknowledged her. She nodded back, with a strange sense of uneasiness. She turned away to focus her attention on the minister, who now faced the assembly, his eyes closed in silent prayer. A moment later, he opened his lips:

" _Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name, Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases. Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts; bless the Lord, all ye his works."_

He paused, and the assembly kneeled and spoke the prayer of confession. When everybody had stood up again, the minister looked down on them all with a confident smile.

"Brothers and sisters" he called, "Our Heavenly Father heard us, and he forgave! Let us bless the Lord with all our heart this morning. Let his loving mercy and grace heal your soul and cheer your spirits. Some of us today feel joyful. Others are down with sadness. But whatever the gifts or ordeals we have received this week, beloved, let us remember that we have a Saviour who, by his precious blood, has opened us the eternal gates of Paradise, otherwise shut to sinners! That, in him, we have the promise of everlasting Life and bliss, not only in the life to come, but since the very day we converted our hearts, even in our darkest hours. Our Lord is with us, in our joys and sorrows. He is among us this morning, " _for where two are three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them_ ", says the Lord! Let us therefore welcome our King with songs of praise! Beloved, never let the enemy steal away your joy!

Someone stroke the first meters of psalm 103. All at once, the faithful opened their hymnbooks and burst into song. The walls of the church rang with the mixed praise of young and aged, men and women, -when all of a sudden, the entrance doors were flung opened. Their panels hit the wall violently, and the stormy wind engulfed itself into the church with such a noisy howl, that the assembly was silent straight away. All faces turned to see Officer Andrew Power standing in the frame of the entrance, damped from head to toes, his face frightful. Outside, the thunderstorm had reached its climax: the rain drew a curtain and the trees crouched under the violent assaults of the wind. The guards entered and closed the door behind, visibly embarrassed.

"I am sorry Good Reverend Dimmesdale!" one of them apologized. "We knew not whether to let the officer in or not!"

Andrew Power slowly went down the ally, turning a fixed and feverish eye on both sides, as a sleepwalker would in seek some nightmarish demon. Arthur Dimmesdale was the first to dare call out to him.

"Andrew Power, I bid you to explain yourself!"

The man shivered violently, as if he woke up from a disturbing dementia, and passively stared up at Arthur Dimmesdale.

"My boy is dead", Power said blankly.

Behind her, Hester could hear Elizabeth's sight of pity. Even the reverend was taken aback by the seemingly indifference with which the father had uttered such dreadful news, and stood momentarily speechless. Andrew Power searched the assembly anew, but this time, his eyes caught the face and shape of Jack Firestone among the men, and would not turn away. Impassioned with anger and fear, he pointed a trembling finger at him, making the man frowned.

"And here is the man –nay, the fiend! –who killed him! Jack Firestone!"

The faithful burst into frenzy as Power tried to go for Jack Firestone, but was grasped round the waist by the parish guards. Firestone remained silent, his jaw clenched with indignation and a slight disgust in the eyes, as all looks now clung to him. Hester realized that he actually hated the man.

"You killed my boy!" Power kept repeating, struggling to free himself, his voice pitching above the rumour of the assembly.

"You need be drunk!" Firestone angrily retorted at last, "How dare you accuse me for your own negligence?"

Hester, panic-stricken, turned to Elizabeth and clasped her hand.

"Mister Firestone is a respectable man! It is so unfair"

"Dearest, the two men are old enemies. This is the curse of our colony."

Governor Bellingham chose this moment to intervene, leaving the first row he had hitherto occupied with his sister, Mistress Hibbins.

"Power, your sorrow deceived you. It is a fact that your son died falling down his horse. Reverend Dimmesdale, Mister Warburton and myself were present right after the accident to see that this horse was frightfully out of his wits. You were yourself compelled to slaughter it a few hours later!

"That murderer bewitched that horse with his black magic!" Power declared, throwing terror over the assembly. "And here is the toy of his infamy!"

He bluntly freed himself from the men's grip and, protecting his hand with an handkerchief, he pulled out from his waistcoat a necklace adorned with a silver medal, and threw it on the floor. Hester could feel cold fingers running down her spine. Firestone's pupils narrowed.

"Speak no more!" a stern voice resounded.

It was Judge Edward Right. He had elbowed his way through the horror-stricken assistance. He readjusted his mantle.

" Officer Power, these are utterly serious accusations you are making, and I shall not hear them as long as you are in this scandalous state! The words of a drunken man are worthless."

"I am in control of myself alright, Your Honour!" Officer Power retorted with a trembling voice, keeping his eyes on Firestone. "Worry about him instead, before he casts another curse of his upon our godly congregation!"

"That is enough! If charges must be pressed, you shall come properly –and sober –at the courthouse tomorrow and follow the procedure. Now, let the Lord's service unfold properly. Gentlemen, take him out!"

The two agents seized the wretched officer, who opposed no resistance, and dragged him out.

A cold silent followed his departure. Firestone, obviously exasperated by the previous scene and the many looks now focused on his person, left his place and turned to the reverend, who silently stood at the pulpit.

"I am sorry, Reverend Dimmesdale, but I cannot stay here any longer.

Dimmesdale nodded.

"I understand"

The reverend waited for Jack Firestone to leave, then he went down the pulpit.

"Brothers and sisters, do not let your hearts be troubled. No conclusion can be drawn from the words we heard here a moment ago. We shall know further about this affair tomorrow."

He bent forward to pick up the necklace that Power had left behind, laying on the wooden floor.

"Don't!" a voice exclaimed. "It may be enchanted!"

The reverend paid no attention to this warning and took the pendant into his hands. When he had straightened up, he softly rebuked the utterer:

"Do not be afraid of Satan. As long as we do not let him into our hearts, he has no power over us, for we are children of God. Never forget that".

And the minister carried on the service as if nothing had occurred, with an admirably peaceful countenance, so comforting for his moved congregation after the turmoil. After the service, the parishioners lingered more than usual in groups of four or more, while the governor and the judge hastily left before being assaulted by an inquiring crowd. Hester was ready to follow Elizabeth and John to their home, when Mary Blue, one of the young girls she had met the day before at the sewing afternoon, caught her up. She stopped.

"Mistress Prynne! I wanted to give you back the thimble you forgot yesterday at Mistress Jones'!"

"Indeed" Hester remembered, "I had to borrow one to Mistress Highaway yesterday night. Thank you, my dear".

Mary handed over the golden little thing, then walked away hastily.

Dimmesdale's peaceful countenance had only been an outward appearance. This sudden affair had indeed thrown the minister into a maze of theories, calling back various events from his memory he struggled to assemble in a logical way. However, his first impulse was to go to the Power's house as soon as possible. When he had eventually managed to part from his relentless parishioners, who understood not his refusal to pronounce himself on the question, he fell back into the vestry. He had removed his black gown and was reaching for his coat when he realized Mary Blue had followed him inside, alone, and had closed the door behind her. He startled in surprise.

"Mary! What are you doing here?"

It seemed to him the young girl's cheeks were unusually coloured, even though her look and her smile were confident.

"I need to tell you about a very serious matter, Reverend Dimmesdale"

Dimmesdale nervously looked around. He could not possibly afford to be seen alone in this shut room with a young maiden. The consequences could be embarrassing.

"Come with me, let us talk outside", he urged her, opening the door.

"But I do not want anybody to hear me!" she opposed.

"We shall be discreet; but Mary, we cannot speak in the vestry"

"It is about Mister Firestone and Mistress Prynne"

The minister dithered for a moment. Then, he shut the door. It was better if such conversation were kept secret, he judged.

"What is there about Mister Firestone and Mistress Prynne?"

"Yesterday, we met Mistress Prynne at Mistress Jones' for the sewing afternoon. She remained three hours or so, but then she said she felt tired and wanted to go home. The rest of the girls and I remained for another hour before packing our things. At that moment, I found Mistress Prynne's thimble, which had rolled, under the seat. I would have handed it over to Mistress Warburton, as I knew she is a good friend of hers, but she had left earlier than my friends and I. So I told them I would go on my own to the Highaway's pension to bring it back to Mistress Prynne, as she might have need for it later –She works very late at night, you know…"

"I know" Arthur Dimmesdale replied without thinking.

"Well, on the way to the pension I had to walk past Mister Firestone's house –I usually avoid the place and rather make a detour when I am alone, because it is always so quiet and isolated, but it was sunset and I knew I had to be home before the night. But as I drew close, I saw Mistress Prynne leaving Mister Firestone's garden. I was so surprised, because she had told us she would go home – and not just that, but she also held a rose from his rosebush, and looked much better than when she had left us earlier."

Dimmesdale frowned.

"Why are you telling me this?" he questioned, with a reproachful tone. "Do you fancy spreading rumours around the town? I would never have believed this of you."

When she heard the blame, Mary blushed, suddenly ashamed, but above all panicked in front of those soft eyes rebuking her. Indeed, she feared to lose her adored minister's tenderness. She stammered.

"No…No, Reverend Dimmesdale, you know I am not like that! I-I just thought…since what happened this morning…you might be interested in knowing that Mistress Prynne is a good friend to Master Firestone…and as he is known to be a solitary man, she could be one of the only persons able to help dispel any misunderstanding about him, if questioned."

Arthur Dimmesdale's brow softened, and Mary finally allowed herself to breathe.

"I see."

It is a well known fact that men and women of good heart tend not to suspect evil where evil does not seem to dwell. However, only fools take an appearance of innocence as a token of inner goodness. For, if Mary was young, this young flower already hid the pitiless spines of a grown woman's heart. Indeed, as soon as she had beheld Hester Prynne the day before, Mary had felt the diffuse threat –consciously or not –the young woman's beauty left hovering over the success of her passionate race for the reverend's heart, and was determined to dispel it by any means. Arthur Dimmesdale was no fool, but he could not understand why young Mary Blue should find any interest in tarnishing Hester's reputation; and the seemingly absurdity of Mary's action led him to give her the benefit of the doubt as to the intention of her ambiguous report, without however trusting the purity of her move, and chose not to inquire further.

Besides, the news of this strange and sudden proximity between Hester Prynne and Firestone, was not a surprise for him: indeed, this impression had haunted him greatly the evening before, after he had seen Firestone's rose on Hester's bosom. The idea troubled him and displeased him. Indeed, if Jack Firestone, physically and by his situation, was fitted for marriage, the minister had never heard of any women he would have approached in a perspective of courtship. However, what displeased Dimmesdale the most was Hester Prynne's closeness to Firestone after the foreboding events of the morning. He was convinced it would bring her no good to stay around the man. Truthfully, he did not want her to be implied in anything unfortunate relating to him. And as the pastor of his soul, he resolved to warn her.

"Thank you, Mary", he said. "Go now, your parents are waiting for you."

"Good day, Master Dimmesdale" she replied with a charming smile, bending slightly her head on the side and blinking in soft movements. She left with the light steps of a fairy, swinging her slim hips under the skirt in gracious movements. Arthur Dimmesdale stood still for a while, as he watched her move away. He was puzzled, for something had just occurred within him – a small twitch deep inside he could not explain. Alas, all the more unarmed and vulnerable are men, though not insensitive, to womanly seduction, as they cannot discern the subtlety of their coils. He shrugged to himself and took his hat. It was now time to offer his condolences to the Power –a very painful mission.

Elizabeth's home was warm and welcoming, in the freshness of the April spring. The hearth was joyfully lit, and the furniture delicately chosen and arranged. The trace of love was everywhere, thought musingly Hester. This was a happy home.

Elizabeth had cooked fish from the river with sweet potatoes and carrots. The smell was delicious to Hester's nose, however neither Hester not the couple had the humour to fully appreciate the meal. The memory of the morning scandal that had stricken Boston made the tragedy of the Power family harder to bear still. They said grace quietly, then sat and slowly began to eat.

"I cannot believe Andrew Power accused Firestone of such shameful deeds" Hester eventually declared, as she remembered Jack Firestone's tender attentions since they had met. "He is my landlord and has always seemed very decent and respectable in every way."

Elizabeth and John shared a silent look. The latter put his fork down.

"You know, Hester, you must not be surprised by the enmity that exists between Firestone and Power. The issue is far from being new."

"John has been living in Boston longer than I have" Elizabeth specified.

"Indeed", John went on, "When I arrived in this town five years ago, the two men already had detestable relations."

"And why is that?" Hester asked.

"As far as I know, it started a year before. You are aware, I believe, that Jack Firestone found a spring under his house a few years ago –the very water of which we drink at this table."

"Yes"

"And the man made a lot of money out of it. That is why Andrew Power, then freshly promoted at the highest grade of his dignity, and probably blinded by pride, insisted that Firestone would sell him the house. Firestone refused without the smallest hesitation. But it seemed that Power was so full of his own importance at the time that he had not even thought of the possibility of a refusal. He offered again and again to give him more money, but Firestone obviously was not interested in his money at all, and kept refusing in return. The affair lingered for weeks, and became a public matter. The entire town soon knew about the issue. When Power finally gave up, the two men had become publicly enemies. Since then, no one ever saw them exchange a single word, and it is rare to see them together in the same room if it is not crowded."

"It is so sad", Elizabeth observed.

" It is hard to believe" Hester said with a tinge of sarcasm, "That a grown man like Officer Power should have problems accepting a refusal."

Neither Elizabeth nor John echoed her disdain. They rather looked very serious and shaken. After a short silence, Elizabeth exploded:

"But still, what could Firestone have ever done to deserve to be accused of _this_! Witchcraft, sweet Lord! There must be something else!"

"As a matter of fact" John replied thoughtfully, his brow tense, "I am not the only one in town to suspect there is some more ancient quarrel to explain their enmity. However, nobody hitherto has been able to guess what."

"But the judge will need proofs and witnesses, if a trial is to be engaged" Hester objected. "And that should be hard to find."

"I would not be so sure of that" Elizabeth uncomfortably replied. "Hester, Mister Firestone is a very secret man…he lives on his own…"

"So do I" Hester retorted.

"My dear…it is well-known that he knows a secret art. And he is always so polite, but also so very cold and distant with everybody, it is hard to know what he thinks and what he is up to."

Hester was partly surprised by what she heard. Her experience of Firestone's sentimental ability had been radically different, but truly, she had seen how the man was difficult to understand.

"He is not even married, Hester. For a man like him who lacks nothing, you must admit this is curious"

"It may be because his feelings were hurt in the past, or because he is not interested yet in marriage. My own husband, who is no witch, was almost twenty years older than Firestone when he married me –and I was his first wife."

An embarrassing silence followed.

"Still" Elizabeth timidly ventured, "If the boy's death was really linked to black magic…"

"Let us not ponder on it." John intervened. "What good is it to fear what could be? Our Lord has taught us not to worry about tomorrow. And indeed, It may be well that Power will not even press charges against Jack Firestone, but that his words escaped him in a fit of folly following his son's death. Let us change the subject. We have better news, have we not, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth smiled with a blush, as she had a knowing look with her husband. Hester understood straight away.

"Elizabeth! Are you…?"

The young woman nodded cheerfully.

"I am!"

The day that followed, Hester woke up with a peculiar excitement. Even though her night had been full of strange dreams about Jack Firestone and potions he would give her to drink to heal her frequent faintness, the hope the morning promised was stronger: she kept repeating in her heart that today would be the day to deliver to the reverend his new garment for the Election Day.

Hester had not dwelled on her feelings for Dimmesdale. She had hitherto contented herself with their presence, passively echoing the movements of her heart, as was her passionate temper naturally inclined to. She had not even pondered on the possible consequences of such attraction. Perhaps unconsciously her heart, still immature because of her early marriage with a man she had never loved, and the sentimental confinement imposed on her so soon, eventually found relief in following its wildest impulses. It was furthermore likely that her husband's absence had unleashed such flow of otherwise undisclosable needs to love and to be loved truly.

However, that morning, for the first time, a vague feeling of guilt came and clouded her joy. For a moment, she realized that her feelings would lead her nowhere; that the pleasure and the thrill Arthur Dimmesdale's presence awakened in her heart were not to be encouraged; and that her soul had been married in front of God to another man's soul, even though her feelings had never been chained to anyone's until then. At twenty-one, her heart was as fresh as a virgin's, ungiven and untouched, and created in her the transports of a young girl, but she suddenly understood the danger in which she put her own soul. As for the soul of Arthur Dimmesdale, she could not be sure of anything, since he had never given her the slightest sign of preference, if not of interest (which he gave to anyone).

As if the short time they had known each other would be sufficient, not to speak of their absence of solitary interviews, to develop such feelings! Arthur Dimmesdale knew more about her than Hester about him, but she was the one to love him. Besides, the man was so secret about his life! She had heard of his Oxford education and the early devotion by which he had distinguished himself. As for his age, he could not be much older than her. Hester craved for months to know more about him and to share more with him. She longed to have a precious place in his heart, but at the same time, she loved him too much to wish him to fall into sin by a forbidden liaison. If he was unable to return her guilty feelings –a possibility she wanted and rejected at the same time –Hester thought she would fain content herself with his friendship –she would be his Mary Magdalene, and he would be her Christ and Master. But anything would be preferable to his indifference.

As she shook those painful thoughts inside her head, a brush in her hand, facing the mirror, Hester realized a slight blush had risen to her cheeks. She put on her hat and turned swiftly to seize her sewing-box along with the finished garments that rested on the bed. She took them in her arms and tenderly stroke their soft texture. She had put so much love into their confection, more than she would have put for one of her own. It was as though these garments destined to belong to Arthur Dimmesdale, were already his. And in Hester's mind, a strange identification had already been done between them and the minister, as objects belonging to a loved one bear the mysterious presence of their owner. A similar phenomenon makes so painful the sheer sight of a dead loved one's belongings, filled with a ghostly life. Hester Prynne therefore considered silently her work, and even took it to her lips for a brief instant, before folding it slowly and with so many precautions, on her arm. Then she left the room.

It had been agreed by common consent that Arthur Dimmesdale should try on the garments and Hester adjust them in Mister Highaway's study, unoccupied since his recent departure for England for a business. Mistress Highaway had proposed herself to be present, without needing to precise why, since it was not appropriate that two young people of both sexes and not related by blood or marriage should be left alone together in a room, especially for an activity requiring physical proximity.

As usual, Hester's heart jumped within her bosom when she saw him, and all her previous doubts vanished, leaving only the pleasure of the moment. " _After all, we are not doing anything wrong_ " she tried to convince herself, " _And Mistress Highaway is present_ ". However, while the minister tried on the garments behind the screen, by a strange coincidence, old Mistress Highaway, probably soothed by the mechanic gestures of the needlework she had brought with her, fell asleep in her seat.

When Dimmesdale returned from behind the screen, wearing the doublet, gorgeously embroidered with gold thread and pinned with golden buttons, the damasked girdle and the laced-fringed mantle, Hester could neither hold a grin of satisfaction at the result, nor refrain from feeling a pang in the heart. Never had Arthur Dimmesdale looked more handsome, draped with that midnight blue dignity. The colours and the silky brilliance of the satin drapery enhanced the grace of his features, his pale skin and his blue eyes and curly black hair. The luxury of the clothing, to Hester's relief, was of the greatest subtlety, residing more in the elegance of the carefully-chosen pieces of abundance and richness opposed to the sophisticated simplicity of the material, and not in a heavy gaudiness of precious threads, cloth and stones.

However, Dimmesdale's first thought was for Mistress Highaway's sudden lethargy; when his first expression of surprise was gone, he looked at Hester, his eyes full of teasing collusion.

"Methinks Mistress Highaway danced much too late last night", he amusingly murmured, deciding on the voice volume that would be used for the rest of the interview.

For the first time in ages, Hester chuckled, as low as she could though, taken by surprise. She had not until then perceived this pleasantly mischievous facet of Arthur Dimmesdale's character. It reminded her of the way charming young gentlemen would try to entertain her in England, where flirting was much more common and natural between the sexes than here. However, when she saw the minister approaching the mirror, she held her breath. She had feared Dimmesdale's reaction, as he might have taken the rich garments as violence to his priestly sobriety; yet the reverend stood speechless in front of the mirror, delicately turning round, coming back and forth and admiring the gorgeous work he had the privilege to wear.

"Mistress Prynne" he said at last, "I am at loss for words. This is magnificent. Thank you..."

His expression was that of grateful wonder as he turned to Hester, such as may be found in boys. But he was a man, and a light glow tainted the young woman's cheeks while she received the compliment.

"What is it that makes you smile so?" he curiously inquired, when he beheld her elated face.

"Sir, I cannot say…It suits your bearing so very well, one could think you were born to wear the garments of a lord."

She laughed lightly at her foolishness, but Dimmesdale suddenly stared at her with such a new and piercing intensity she stopped. As he turned back to the mirror, a concerned brow had replaced the wonder in his expression.

"What a strenuous work...How many days –how many _nights_ have you possibly spent on this work? This order was not the only one you had"

"Neither have I any husband nor children to look after at home, good Sir" she replied softly. "What else can I possibly do to fill my days…or my nights?" She came to him with a piece of cloth in her hand. "May I?" she asked.

And as Dimmesdale, after a hesitation, approved, she carefully plucked around the neck a beautiful collar of pure lacework.

"Ay, this is true" he said, letting Hester fix the gracious broidery. "How long has he been away now?"

"Three months, good Sir"

"You must be missing him very much"

Hester slowly shook her head. Puzzled by her silent honesty, Dimmesdale tried to look down into her eyes, but she would not raise hers.

"In truth, I am not" she confessed with unexpected boldness. "He is old and misshapen. I never loved him. The marriage was arranged against my will."

Hester was startled when the minister, far from judging and admonishing her as she had expected, replied those sincere words:

"I am sorry. I know how much concern for the family's welfare can turn parents into tyrants for their own children. But no one should ever be forced into marrying someone. That should be a crime."

At this moment, Mistress Highaway grumbled something in her sleep and changed her position, a blissful smile on her lips.

"I…I learned this pattern from a French friend of mine, a protestant runaway." Hester said, eager to change the subject. "She told me it was very fashionable among French gentlemen in Montauban. Do you like it?"

The reverend turned to the mirror and his thin pale fingers stroked the piece of art with an evasive tenderness.

"Ay, I do. You have very gifted hands, no doubt", he said. "Never have I seen such delicate and fine embroidery in this place. It makes me think of England".

His voice lowered as he said those words, and for an instant he gazed silently at the white collar in the mirror, but his eyes seemed to be lost in a remote contemplation, a slight smile upon his lips. Hester, trying to hide the tremulousness that this sight raised in her voice, asked carefully:

"Do you miss Old England?"

"God knows I do" he replied frankly. "But it is not a land for us any longer, is it?" His reflection smiled to her, and she timidly smiled back. "This New World is a blessing for us. It is a new Promised Land whereupon we shall build a new nation, faithfully rooted in God's love and Word...a nation where peace and freedom shall dwell. Do you believe in this, Mistress Prynne?"

She looked up and their eyes met. She could find in this stare a scholarly seriousness, the bright sparkle of hopeful youth she had seen before in young men's faces, and which she had never really understood or shared as a woman. It was rare for Hester to be asked her opinion, and the very first time on such a serious matter. However, never had any of her answers been so honest when she replied almost immediately, her trembling fingers delicately caressing the new collar close to his throat, as if to smooth out a crease –but only to feel his living pulse close to her, and his sweet breath on her eyelids.

"If you do, so do I, Sir"

Never had she meant anything so much. She feared her voice might have been too emotional and her gesture unwonted; she turned away from him and pretended to look for her scissors in her box, lest the reverend should find anything on her face that would encourage any of his doubts. Hester had always been a proud and self-confident woman, but with Arthur Dimmesdale she was continuously haunted by the fear to betray herself.

The latter was nevertheless a sensible man; he had been startled by her answer, realising at the same moment his genuine curiosity to know this woman's thoughts: conscious of his misplaced forwardness, and not sure how to understand her words, he somehow deemed them to have been spoken out of convention or boredom, or worse, to please him; which would have been the case with any other women but Hester.

"Pardon me" he said, with a feeling of failure. "These are fruitless scholar chatter. I did not mean to question you"

"You did nothing of the sort, good sir", she said dryly, before closing her box. "And I think you are a noble man and these are noble dreams"

The aversion and the anger she now had for herself grew more and more difficult to bear. She felt the urge to leave the house, and put on her mantle. Dimmesdale walked to the window and picked a small purse.

"If you please", he said, handing it over to Hester. "Here is the money I owe you, but I am afraid the work is beyond the price I expected. I shall give you the rest next month. "

"This is a fair price, good Sir" she replied, without giving a single look inside the purse. "You owe me nothing else."

She took a bow and walked for the door, but Reverend Dimmesdale's tender and tremulous voice called her back before she could reach it.

"Please, Mistress Prynne, look at me."

Hester obeyed half-heartedly; his blue eyes were soft and filled with an infinite kindness and goodness, and his face beaming with sweet concern pierced the young woman's heart with irresistible rays of love, enhancing the very shame she felt.

"If you ever feel the need, come and speak to me at church" he timidly offered. "It is my duty to look after my parishioners. I would do my best to help you find in God the comfort you need, and to see you smile."

"I am doing fine, your reverence"

"You do not have to conceal your feelings to me", his tone sounded more like a prayer than a reproach. "I can see you are hurt. Besides, Elizabeth told me my women parishioners have not given you the love and kindness worthy of Christians. I may well remind them of this"

Hester did not answer immediately. She could not reasonably explain the other women's sense of rejection, but it has always been so even before she left Europe, as soon as she had grown a beautiful woman. The hatred and jealousy of her sex had more than once disserved her and isolated her from the collective activities, and her unpopularity grew all the more that she would attract male sympathy in her solitude. But it had not been so clear to Hester that her beauty might be the reason for her loneliness, until she had felt its full blow in the New World, since it was the first time she was left on her own, deserted by both family and husband, more than ever in need of a thoughtful friend or a sympathetic ear.

"Sir" she eventually replied, "I certainly am grateful for you kind-heartedness, though I wish we had rather kept this a private matter"

"Fair enough" he said, even though he did not look much convinced. "But if you have the time, there is something else –a serious matter, I am afraid, I would like to discuss with you."

Not knowing what to expect, and her imagination running wild in her head, Hester uneasily tightened her grip around her sewing box. Arthur Dimmesdale himself seemed to be looking for the better way to approach the subject.

"I heard that you were somehow…close to Master Firestone. Am I wrong?"

Hester stared at him, and could hardly conceal her bewilderment.

"He is my landlord" she cautiously replied. "And has always been very obliging to me. Why is that?"

"I suppose you are aware of what fragile situation he happens to be in, since yesterday?"

"I have had the occasion to notice how much Officer Power's words usually precede his thoughts."

Dimmesdale frowned.

"I know he has wronged you, Mistress Prynne, but I have good reasons to think that this time, Andrew Power will not look to make amends for his words."

Dimmesdale vividly remembered his strange conversation with the troubled man two days before. Since Sunday morning, the minister had understood that Andrew Power had been suspecting witchcraft for a long time before his son's death. Dimmesdale thus feared the worse in the days to come.

"What does it have to do with me?", Hester asked, still avoiding the Reverend's penetrant stare, but her arms defensively crossed.

The strange shift from trust to suspicion in Hester's attitude escaped not Arthur Dimmesdale; but his inability to understand it slightly shook his self-confidence, and he had to draw more assurance on the reserve of his spiritual authority.

"Hester Prynne, you must know that I speak in your own interest…but you need to stay away from Jack Firestone for a while –the time for the light to be shed on this affair".

Hester's eyebrow trembled. She felt deeply disappointed that Arthur Dimmesdale, the man she so admired, should believe the preposterous accusations uttered by such a fool fellow as Andrew Power. Strangely enough, as it seems reasonable to judge, since Hester had only known Jack Firestone for three months, she was convinced to fully know his innermost nature and that everybody else could only be wrong.

"So you too believe Master Firestone is a witch", she concluded, eventually looking him in the eye.

"I believe nothing", Dimmesdale bluntly corrected, beginning to lose his nerve. "But if an investigation is to be lead –which is, unfortunately, utterly probable –it is best for you to give the officers no reason to knock at your door."

This time, it was Hester's own pride the reverend had offended.

"Well" the young woman impatiently replied, "I thank you for your concern, Master Dimmesdale; but as a grown woman, I am able to look after myself and my frequentations."

Their raising tones eventually woke Mistress Highaway up, but neither Dimmesdale nor Hester paid attention to her, and the old lady was too surprised and afraid to intervene to manifest her renewed presence.

"Precisely!" the minister angrily maintained. "You are a lonely woman, your husband is far away, and you have no family here to defend your interests! Your situation is extremely delicate, and you cannot afford to be involved in anything regrettable. Trust me, Mistress Prynne, it would be very ill-advised of you to do otherwise!"

"If you allow me, Reverend Master Dimmesdale" Hester said coldly, showing her desire to leave.

Arthur Dimmesdale breathed deeply.

"Go, and God bless you as he blessed your skilful hands"

Hester quickly bowed and left the room.

"Women!" Dimmesdale sighted with exasperation, as he watched the young woman moving away.

"If I may, good Master Dimmesdale", ventured Mistress Highaway's small voice behind him, "These garments made by Mistress Prynne are a wonder to the eye!


End file.
